


From the Zone with love

by hope_to_last



Category: S.T.A.L.K.E.R., S.T.A.L.K.E.R. (Video Games)
Genre: Amnesia, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Christmas, Crack, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Pranks and Practical Jokes, Romance, silliness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2018-09-08 09:39:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 76,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8839648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope_to_last/pseuds/hope_to_last
Summary: Compilation of different one-shots and stories. You can find some adventures, shippy stuff (mainly Scar/Strelok), silliness and crack.





	1. Christmas at Yanov Station

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I'm breaking my loooong absence at last! This will be a compilation of different one-shots and stories, better to keep all the madness in one place.  
> I know I'm shipper trash, but I'm disappointed at the lack of shippy fanfics in this fandom. So, I'm going to provide my own crack :D

**Pairing:** Vano x Strider (background Nitro x Hawaiian)

The atmosphere in Yanov station was unusually festive. It all began when Degtyarev had come back dragging a small tree behind him. He asked for volunteers to help him cut it to pieces and start a fire. Many stalkers perked up at this, it was freezing in the station. The snow filtered in every time the doors opened and everyone was cold and miserable all the time.

However, Hawaiian had protested the idea. He argued that it was Christmas season, and the station looked as dull as ever. They could always cut down more trees to get wood, but he was adamant that particular tree was perfect for decoration. It quickly turned into a heated debate, since some of the loners were still thinking about getting a fire going on, preferably without having to go outside to fetch more wood. The shouting got so bad that Colonel Shulga himself got out of his office to see what was happening. An expectant silence fell over them when Loki also appeared. Having both faction leaders in the same room was an unusual occurrence, it only happened once or twice before. One of those times being the day they agreed to hold a precarious truce on Yanov station.

To everyone's surprise, both Shulga and Loki agreed with Hawaiian. Maybe it was because morale was at an all time low, maybe because they knew Hawaiian would bitch and make passive aggressive comments about it forever if they didn't at least put a token effort in creating a festive atmosphere. The trader could be scary when he was set on accomplishing something. It was still fresh in everyone's memory how he strong-armed Snag, of all people, to share his supplies with everyone for Trapper's birthday. Snag was still bitter about it.

The tree was put up in a corner, mainly because it needed some help to sit upright without toppling to the side. Someone had decided to decorate the sad, crooked thing with ammo belts. Nitro had made some ornaments with pieces of scrap metal, painted them in gaudy colours and now was putting them on the tree. There was a small argument about the tree topper. Hawaiian wanted to use a Snowflake artefact as the star, Lieutenant Gavrilenko wanted to use a Night Star and Grizzly insisted on a Kolobok. The matter was settled when Nitro hoisted Hawaiian up so he could put the Snowflake on top of the tree, declaring that it was more in line with the winter theme.

Yar had come the next morning with an armful of a wilted plant, swearing it was mistletoe. Many had tried to disprove it, saying it was something else, but they couldn't agree what it was. In the end Loki had declared that yes, Yar was right, it was mistletoe, and of course he was sure no one had implied that one of his men was lying. Since then, the whole station had been garnished with mistletoe branches hanging from every doorway.

Someone had grumbled about the blasted mistletoe, and how awkward it would be to get caught under it. Since then began what Vano had dubbed as the Great Mistletoe Game. Everyone denied any implication, but everybody was loitering around until someone in particular was close by, pushing two persons together under it, or trying to trap Degtyarev with them.

On Christmas Day, after hours of vodka flying freely, everyone stepped up their game. Being the cheeky bastard he was, Yar had managed to get a kiss from every Freedomer, Degtyarev and even a couple of Duty officers as well. Mitay and Torba had trapped Grizzly between them in one of the archways, both of them kissing their friend on the cheek and making him blush a fierce red. Kremen kept trying to push Nitro towards Hawaiian, he claimed to see great potential there. He was finally proved right when Bonesetter, his accomplice, managed to get Hawaiian under the same doorway as the technician. Their kiss wasn't a simple peck like others did, no, theirs was steaming enough to make other stalkers catcall them.

Vano found himself next to Strider, the only ex-Monolith member who hadn't been trapped under the mistletoe by their pranking fellow freedomers. Their reactions usually were of indifference or mild surprise. However, Strider looked downright confused.

"I don't understand, what's the meaning of kissing people under a plant?"

Vano laughed and shrugged his shoulders, not sure how to explain a silly western tradition that everyone here treated as half a joke, half an excuse. Strider kept looking at him like he held all the answers, so Vano tried to sober up a bit and come up with at least a brief answer.

"It's mostly a joke, I think." He pondered for a second. "An excuse to have fun."

"Fun. Kissing someone is fun?"

"It's nice. And it can be fun too, yes." Vano was buzzed enough to carelessly put an arm around Strider's shoulders, sighing. "I can see the appeal. The last time I kissed someone was before coming to the Zone."

"I don't remember my last kiss. I think I'd like one to remember." Strider confessed. His intense gaze was doing strange things to Vano's composure.

"You can join the hunt for Degtyarev, or..." Vano coughed, tempted to suggest something really stupid. Strider seemed to know what he had been about to ask, and he complied with his unspoken request. Their lips met and all Vano could think about was how this was the best Christmas ever. He licked Strider's lips, and to his delight he deepened the kiss, grabbing him by the waist and letting him explore his mouth. They parted all flushed, lips reddened and tingling pleasantly.

"Yes, it is nice." Strider confirmed him.

"Ye – yes." Vano stammered. Strider gave him a small, lingering peck. "I think that the tradition is to kiss under the mistletoe?"

"It's alright. We can have more than one tradition."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something to get into the Christmas spirit! Reviews, please?


	2. Prank War (Strelok x Scar)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being a train commuter is hellish. I had to wait an hour and half for my train to arrive today (slight delay in the service my ass), so I passed the time writing this nonsense.

**Pairing:** Scar x Strelok

This wasn't what he imagined it would happen when he agreed to work with the USS' military, sharing his knowledge of the Zone. He never expected to be sent back, to help the scientists at their new mobile lab in Zaton, but he could deal with that. The Skadovsk was nice enough, he supposed. It wasn't as lively as the famous 100 Rads, but it had the advantage of having actual bunk beds to sleep in. Strelok wasn't a fan of the Rostok's most popular sleeping method, sleeping on the floor around a campfire sucked even if you were inside a building. However, the Skadovsk had a huge downside: _he_ was here.

Strelok had been adjusting to his new routine in Zaton when one day the Major appeared with the amnesiac bastard in tow. In an amazing display of unoriginality, Degtyarev had nicknamed him Scar, due to his scarred face. Nimble had recognised him, claiming Scar had been a mercenary and that they'd worked together once. It all was very innocuous; however, for some unexplainable reason, Strelock disliked the man intensely. He had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind whenever he saw Scar, like he should fight or run far away. Moreover, the first time he saw him he'd felt vaguely familiar. Had they met before? It was a most frustrating feeling, and it only added to his dislike of him. In the end he decided to ignore Scar's existence. It's not like he would see him very often, right? Strelok was either at the new government lab answering the scientist's questions or out there, doing small missions on his own whenever he could. On the other hand, Scar usually worked running errands for Nimble and Owl.

He was wrong. Degtyarev insisted they could help each other cope with their amnesia, like some sort of support group. It backfired spectacularly. Scar had picked up the clues of Strelok's animosity towards him, and now the feeling was mutual. The tension between them when they were in the same room was so thick it was almost a solid entity. Moreover, civil, detached coexistence was not their forte. Any conversation they started didn't take long to turn into an argument peppered with threats. Degtyarev had never regretted something so much as he regretted introducing them.

##

One day Strelok found his personal locker secured with a padlock. What the fuck? That sure as hell wasn't there when he left this morning. At first he tried to pick it open with his knife, but the results were abysmal. Then he went to borrow some tools from Cardan to force it open.

Hearing some strange noises, Scar poked his head in to see what was happening. Strelok threw him a venomous glance. He'd always been prone to jumping to conclusions, and he was very suspicious of Scar's timing.

"Is there a problem?" Scar asked him. That just cemented Strelok's suspicions.

"Did you think it was funny?" Strelok spat.

"What?" Scar made a very convincing picture of confusion, but he wasn't buying it.

"We'll see who laughs last." Scar looked at him like he'd grown an extra head.

It really was a shame that, in his fury, Strelok completely missed the tiny, dirty scrap of paper on top of his locker. During his attempts at opening the locker, the paper slid back and fell between the locker and the wall. It was a hastily scribbled note:

" _Snag came back. He's a damn thief, trust me, I know from experience. I locked your locker just to be safe, ask Beard for the key. Hope you're not mad. Degtyarev."_

##

It was a stroke of luck that he'd overheard Owl asking Scar to go retrieve something from the bandits camping on the dock cranes. Strelok had nothing to do right now, it was the perfect opportunity. He loitered around the bar until Scar was gone, then he sprang into action.

_So many choices,_ he thought gleefully as he spotted his victim's locker. He felt a momentary pang of guilt. He had never gone through another stalker's personal stuff, and certainly he wouldn't condone such behaviour in others. Then he remembered that Scar had messed with his locker first. Alright, payback was fair. After a quick, superficial search he grabbed the battered Vintar and some spare ammo clips. Now he just needed to...

Scar came back not much later. Strelok coincidentally chose that moment to go to the infirmary to stock up on meds. He heard the noise of a locker opening and then a grunt of surprise. He had duct taped the Vintar and the ammo to the ceiling. Serves him right. Strelok watched him from the doorway as he retrieved his things.

"Is there a problem?" Strelok asked him, unable to keep the smirk off his face. Judging by Scar's narrowed eyes, he had noticed it.

"This means war." Scar said though clenched teeth.

"Bring it on." Strelok challenged him with grim satisfaction.

##

One day passed and no further incidents occurred. Strelok began to ponder which should be his next move, or if he should wait and see if the ex-mercenary had just been bluffing. Turns out Scar hadn't been idle. That night a tired Strelok lay down on the same bunk he always picked and immediately regretted it. The mattress gave in and it fell through the bed frame to the floor with a resounding clank. The noise made Degtyarev come upstairs to see what was happening, fearing Scar and Strelok finally decided to kill each other. He stopped on the entrance, surprised to see the tilted, upside down mattress and Strelok lying half on the floor, half tangled in the bed.

"Oh man, what the fuck happened?" Degtyarev helped him up, laughing at his predicament. Scar was there as well, looking faintly amused. How Strelok wanted to wipe that smug smile out of his face. One of these days, he was going to climb him like a tree and – and strangle him, yes.

The latches holding up the mattress base were undone and the screws missing. Strelok decided that fixing this was not his problem. After some more jokes from the Major, he settled down for the night without further incidents.

##

His chance at retaliation came up unexpectedly. For once the scientists at the lab did not have time to bombard him with their never-ending questions. They had received a new shipment of supplies and some idiot had messed up big time. They received an unholy amount of lab staining solutions and, to top it off, that lab did not even conduct biological research. Surely no one would miss a single bottle. Amidst the chaos, he nicked some powders labelled _Congo Red_ before being dismissed for the day.

Coating the inside of Scar's coat hood was trickier, since he usually went everywhere with his trench coat. He only took it off when he slept. He had to wait until it was the middle of the night, when everyone was either asleep or passed out drunk (since he didn't want interruptions or witnesses) and then sprinkled the inside of the coat and its hood with the staining powders.

The powder was of a bright red colour, so he was genuinely surprised at Scar's blue hair. It made the whole bar erupt in laughter when they saw him with his blotchy dye job. Revenge with a dash of public ridicule was sweet, indeed.

##

It was early at night, the stalkers were starting to come in droves back to the safety of the Skadovsk. Strelok had been sleeping almost all afternoon. He dragged himself up and mentally prepared himself to go hunt that Chimera like he promised to do. He went to put on his shoes and grab some supplies for the hunt. He slipped into his boots and then he fell face-first to the floor when he tried to move. Ugh, _some_ motherfucker had glued them to the floor!

Speaking of the devil, Scar appeared in that moment and smirked at him. He'd already washed almost all the dye from his hair, but even after a day it still had a lingering soft, bluish hue.

"One single word and I'll punch you in the face." Strelok threatened from his spot on the floor.

"Can you even reach that high?" Scar was taking great delight in aggravating him.

Strelok made good on his promise. In a show of remarkable speed, he got up and tackled him, successfully throwing Scar to the ground. He straddled him, preventing him from getting up, and was about to punch him when Scar surged forward, clashing their mouths together. It was a bruising kiss. Actually, it was more like a bite, all teeth and anger. They broke apart panting and Scar's swiped the blood swelling on Strelok's lower lip with his thumb.

"I fucking hate you." Strelok said between uneven breaths.

"Likewise." Scar growled before he was met with another rage fuelled kiss.

##

Upstairs in his makeshift office, Nimble was brokering a deal with Degtyarev when they heard the commotion. Degtyarev ran downstairs like a worried mother hen. Nimble followed him since the Major still had to pay him. They were greeted with the image of Strelok and Scar furiously making out on the floor like a pair of horny, emotionally unstable teenagers. Nimble dragged Degtyarev away before they were discovered and the situation became even more awkward.

"That was... unexpected." Degtyarev chuckled weakly, back in Nimble's quarters. He looked completely stunned.

"Tell me about it, now I owe Cardan two hundred roubles!" Nimble sighed. He was never again going to make a bet with the technician. However, knowing them both, it still could end with one of them throwing the other into an anomaly field as he had predicted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is interested or curious about it, Congo Red changes its colour from red to blue in acidic pH (like sweat). It also is toxic, so do not use at home XD


	3. Remembrance (Ghost & Strelok)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Ghost & Strelok because I always wanted to see more of their friendship, and in general just more of Strelok's group.

**Pairing:** Ghost  & Strelok

Ever since he turned off the Brain Scorcher and destroyed the C-Consciousness, after he started piecing his life together, sometimes Strelok would remember small fragments from his past. From before waking up in Sidorovich's bunker.

They usually were random events, unimportant pieces of information. Like a week ago, when he'd remembered how he literally fell into the Agroprom Underground complex and badly sprained his ankle the first time he went there. Or when he'd been eating some dried up diet sausage and remembered that one time he fed one to Doc's pseudo-dog, and then the beast followed him around all day long like an overgrown, murderous puppy begging for more scraps. In a sense they weren't overly interesting memories, but Strelok treasured them all the same. Any connection to his past, to that life he didn't remember, was important to him.

The last one, like all the others, sneaked up on him completely unexpected. Strelok had been holed up in a small building that night, patching himself up after a surprise encounter with a burer, when the memory hit him like a freight train.

##

_He hurt all over. It was getting difficult to stay awake, even breathing was painful. Someone was shaking him, calling his name. Why were they doing that? It made the pain worse._

" _Strelok! Damn it Strelok, stay awake." A very familiar voice said in desperation._

" _He's bleeding too much. I think he has serious internal damage." Another familiar voice said, slightly shaky. "He's going to die."_

" _Fang, we can't just leave him like that." The first voice argued._

" _Just leave him, there is nothing we can do for him. The blowout is minutes away and we won't get through with him."_

" _No, Fang. I'm not leaving him!"_

" _Do you think I like this? He's also my friend Ghost, but we..." Strelok felt the voices grow dimmer, quickly fading away as blackness claimed him._

 

_The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes again was the figure of a man tending a small fire. The brightness of the flames hurt his eyes. He wanted to ask where he was, but all he managed was a pitiful groan._

" _Strelok, you're awake!" The man was overjoyed. Ghost. He sounded like Ghost, he even looked like Ghost, but something wasn't right. Ghost always wore his special suit, not a simple tan leather coat. "Don't worry, Doc will be here soon. Everything will be fine."_

_He tried to move again, to get a better look at him. Something was indeed wrong; Ghost only spoke with that sort of forced cheer every time he was trying to hide something from them. And Ghost was a terrible liar._

" _Keep still, let the suit work its healing magic." Huh, so he was wearing his friend's suit? "You took a nasty fall. We thought you..."_

_Ghost appeared unable to finish that thought. Strelok moved his fingers, trying to get Ghost's attention. His friend caught on it and grabbed his hand, squeezing it lightly._

" _Wait till I tell Fang, he was... distressed. He went to check the entrance, needed some time alone." Ghost intended to get up and go fetch Fang, he could tell. He also knew his friends well enough to suspect what happened._

" _Stay?" Strelok managed to croak with considerable effort. He would love to have Fang here as well, but above all he didn't really want to be alone right now._

" _Yes, of course." Ghost's voice was thick with emotion. Ghost stayed by his side, still grabbing his hand. It meant the world to Strelok._

##

He already knew part of that, but only a small fragment. It left a bittersweet smile on Strelok's lips. It seemed like they had been good friends, the kind he always yearned for, yet he barely remembered them. He didn't think he had ever seen Fang nor Ghost again. He hoped Fang knew he wasn't mad at him. He understood.

It was useless to dwell on such morose thoughts, there was nothing he could do about it. Fang was dead, he'd seen his grave. It was ironic he knew so much about himself because of what he discovered during his stint as Marked One, unknowingly chasing after himself and his friends... Oh God. He made another morbid discovery during that time. So much had happened to him that he completely forgot about it until now, but he'd seen Ghost's remains before. Strelok was horrified, he ransacked his best friend's body and left him down there to rot!

He didn't stop to think about it. No friend of his deserved to be left on a creepy underground lab, having his bones gnawed by mutants. He picked up all his stuff and set way to Yantar. He would retrieve his friend's corpse and give him the proper burial he deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may be a little late, but happy 2017!


	4. Persona Non Grata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No pairings in this one, just lots of deaths.
> 
> I didn’t exactly specify who the protagonist it in this one; it can be Marked One or any other unlucky stalker.

Everyone hated him. It wasn't exactly an exaggeration, he was friendless and every other stalker avoided him like the plague. Or tried to kill him.

It all began back in the rookie village, in Cordon. Thinking of earning some money to buy better equipment, he accepted one of Sidorovich's missions. He was tasked with killing a so called 'sales representative'. His PDA situated him in Cordon, close to the cross by the bandit's camp, so he accepted.

He didn't enjoy his trek across the area. He'd been chased by a pack of dogs, and when he sat down in the decrepit bus stop to catch his breath, some freaky rats had attacked him. The railroad embankment was controlled by the military or bandits posing as military, he wasn't sure which. The only clear thing was that they liked shooting at people. He had to run away and in the process nearly got his legs ripped out in an anomaly. From then on, he wasted an incredible amount of bolts to get to his destination, paranoid as he was, but in the end he arrived more or less whole.

There were three stalkers camped in that location. One of them was his objective, but he wasn't sure which one. What to do? He threw a grenade at them. This would solve the issue. With the three of them dead, he got to kill his mark with no witnesses left, and there would be no angry friends who could come after him in revenge. Nice. Plus, he now could loot their belongings. It had been a very profitable mission after all.

#

The blowout had caught him in the middle of nowhere. He ran around, desperately searching for some place to hide, he didn't want to be outside during an emission... The only shelter to be found in miles was a derelict house far from the road. Not an ideal choice, it had too many holes on the roof, but it would do.

The thing was that he wasn't the only one in search of a safe haven to hide during the blowout. Not even a full minute later, a group of bandits came rushing into the same house. With all the rumbling and the noise from the blowout, he didn't notice he had company until he literally bumped into one of them. He killed the bandit, only to have a bunch of them rushing to him when they heard the gunshot. He fired at them blindly, running for his life and stumbling whenever the ground shook too hard. He found a ladder and climbed up, using his elevated position to shoot at the idiots who dared to go after him.

Once the emission ended and the world stopped looking like Hell itself, he slid down the ladder. The floor was littered with bodies. Wow, he was sort of amazed he survived against so many enemies! He spotted a fellow stalker amongst the corpses, a rookie he'd met on the village. He felt a slight pang of regret, thinking that maybe he'd killed a comrade. Such feeling vanished quickly. Death was a common happenstance in the Zone and he barely knew the man, so he didn't care much.

#

Garbage was aptly named. The area was just a giant, lethal dumpster. The garbage piles were highly radioactive, but he was sure he'd seen an artifact in one of them. As a result, he'd gotten very sick very quickly, all for a simple Jellyfish. He only had one dose of anti radiation meds. Hoping it would suffice, he washed the pill down with a bottle of vodka. If he was going to die of radiation poisoning, at least the vodka would dull his senses. He did not die, but it was a close call. Some bandits saw him and decided to go greet him in their usual style. Thus he discovered that fighting bandits off while drunk was harder than he'd imagined. But he succeeded. He felt unstoppable now.

Shortly after, he received a message from some nearby loners requesting help against more bandits. To his alcohol addled mind that sounded good. He ran to help them with his shotgun at the ready. He went to meet his fellow stalkers and reassure them that he was here to help. It was a shame that in his rush he didn't hear one of them shouting at him to put his weapon away. He planted himself in front of them, shotgun still in hand, and was promptly smacked upside the head with the barrel of a rifle. Ouch. He had no time to berate them for their extreme rudeness because the bandits were coming for them.

The ensuing fight was a disaster. The bandits surpassed them in number and had better weapons. The loners fell like flies and soon he was alone facing a those bastards. Somehow, he killed them all, though he didn't remember much of it. He suspected grenades held a major role in his victory. Well, he helped kill the bandits as promised, even if there were no survivors to thank him. However, he would soon discover that wasn't entirely true. While looting the bodies he discovered one of the stalkers was still alive, gravely wounded but alive. He could use one of his medkits...

However, he recognised him as the one who'd smacked him in the head with the rifle. Besides, the man was at death's doorstep already, better to let nature run its course. Or better yet, help nature run its course a little faster. He stabbed the wounded stalker, telling himself it was a mercy kill and that it was the right decision. Besides, the guy had been carrying a couple of different artifacts, those were good loot!

He was loaded with stuff to sell and could barely move. A trip back to Sidorovich was in order. On his way out of Garbage, someone shot at him from behind. He ducked behind a tree and blindly shot back with one of the Abakans he'd pilfered. A cry of pain announced that he shot accurately. He bandaged his bleeding arm before going to inspect the body. His now dead assailant seemed to be a rookie. Uh, he must have turned crazy. Maybe that was how zombiefied stalkers started? He made a mental note to ask about that back in the rookie village.

#

Just as he stepped into the rookie camp, about half of the stalker there snapped when they saw his face and started to attack him. What the hell? He wasn't going to take it lying down, so he defended himself. Wolf didn't appreciate him killing his men, and soon he also joined the hunt for his miserable hide. He was completely screwed, unless... Yeah, running for his life and hiding in the underground bunker sounded right.

He led his chasers on a pointless chase across the abandoned houses, managing to shake them off his trail, and then he sprinted to safety in a mad dash. He was panicking; what was he going to do? Then he remembered his motto in case of doubt, grenades are the solution. He sold all his hard earned loot to Sidorovich and used the money to buy a lot of grenades and medical supplies.

Back in the surface, he started throwing the grenades around like a possessed madman. It was an effective tactic. All his attackers died, along with the few stalkers that remained neutral during this madness. In fact, when he was done the rookie camp was a ghost village. Oh well, no strategy was perfect and he was still alive, so in his book that was a win. Looking at the bright side, now everything in the camp was his property. He was going to get crazy rich in no time!

#

He was tired of roaming Cordon and Garbage. All the stalkers in the area were out to kill him, along with the bandits, and the military. And let's not forget the wildlife, of course. He still didn't know how, but he had acquired the reputation of a psychopath. It was preposterous! He only killed when his life was in danger; or when one of Sidorovich's special tasks required it. Maybe it was time to move onto greener pastures. He'd heard that Dark Valley was an area teeming with opportunities.

#

Nope, just no. He didn't want to even think about his trip to Dark Valley. He was never, ever going back there.

Ok, so everything had been going fine at first. He arrived, admired the view and even accepted to help that Duty guy with his bandit problem. Then he saw it. A swarm of hundreds of rats appeared on the horizon, running towards them at breakneck speed.

The rodents arrived like a squeaking tide of devastation. He barely had time to jump on a high rock before they started gnawing at the other stalker and the bandit. He threw a grenade at the sea of rats, killing only a few of them and the Dutyer. Didn't matter, surely being eaten alive was worse, right? The rats closed in on his rock and now he couldn't even throw another grenade at them without fear of blowing himself up. He fired at them with his Abakan and made them fall back just a bit. Then he jumped off the rock and ran away screaming like a frightened child. He ran all the way back to Garbage and then kept running until he collapsed from the effort.

He was still catching his breath after such marathon, when three stalkers resting by the side of the road saw him. They ran towards him, screaming bloody murder and shooting at him. This was getting annoyingly familiar. After dispatching them, he racked his brain for what to do now. Then a simple idea hit him like a ton of bricks: he could go to bar, the 100 Rads. Yes, he would go there, forget about what happened in Cordon and Garbage. It seemed the best place to start anew and forge himself a new reputation.

Unfortunately, the road to the bar was blocked by a Duty detail. They were not letting anyone pass. He was arguing with them to let him go through when wild boars attacked. The Duty guys requested his help to kill the boars, so of course he complied. Getting into Duty's good graces could only benefit him. He shot at the beasts with his rifle, decided to kill as much of them as he could. He saw one of the Duty stalkers getting harassed by a boar and he fired at the beast until it was dead. The Dutyer didn't like that one bit. With a scream of "That bitch shot me!" he turned all of his squadmates against him.

He was forced to kill them all. Fucking hell! On the bright side, there were no witnesses to this carnage. Alright, no one needed to know this. If anyone asked him, he would try to make it pass as a bandit attack.

#

The Bar area had a serious infestation of blind dogs and pseudo-dogs. He arrived running for his life, hoping the lookouts would help him. They did, thank goodness. He knew better than to try to help them though, he didn't want a repeat of what happened with the other Duty squad.

A loner nearby had heard the commotion and came to help. Then he saw him and went mad, shooting at him instead of the mutants. Oh shit, not again! It looked like his reputation had spread here as well, damn. He quickly killed the crazed stalker, an instinctive reaction by now. In hindsight, it was a grave mistake. The Duty guards didn't like that and, once the mutants were dead, they turned against him as well.

His presence turned the otherwise peaceful area into a fucking bloodbath. He used all his ammo and all his grenades, but he survived. He was bleeding profusely and his armour was not serviceable anymore, but he survived. Sweet mother of god, he needed a drink.

The barkeep wasn't very welcoming and berated him for his killing spree. He didn't care anymore. He was too tired to summon the energy to reply something. After patching himself up, he bought some new gear. Another sunrise suit, for starters, also ammo and grenades for the Groza he looted from one of the corpses. And of course, as much vodka as he could drink without getting alcohol poisoning.

He sat outside, basking in the setting sun, and drank amidst a pile of corpses, pondering on what happened. All he wanted was to come here to rebuild his reputation, drink in company of someone who was alive for a change, place some bets in the arena... Now everyone was dead or out for his blood. Again. What had he ever done to deserve this?

Nevertheless, not all was lost. He knew there was another faction named Freedom, one that was enemies with Duty. Yes, he was going to join Freedom. They would probably be ecstatic that he had already killed so many Dutyers. Screw everything else, tomorrow he would go to the Army Warehouses and join Freedom.

#

The journey to the Army Warehouses wasn't overly long, but it wasn't an easy one. It started with yet another gunfight when he found another angry Duty contingent on the other side of the bar area. What a great way to start the day. He almost died a dozen of times by the time he crossed into the new territory, running away from the angry Duty higher-ups and dodging bullets. He was overstressed and twitchy, and shooting first and asking questions later was now an ingrained reflex. When he heard voices ahead on the road, he fired at them without thinking. Luckily for him, they turned out to be bandits. Thank God. That was fine, killing bandits was a public service, no one would be angry with him for that.

Later, further along the road, he found an old farmstead turned into a Duty camp. Knowing what kind of welcome to expect from them if they spotted him, he went in for the kill before he lost the element of surprise. Time to test those new grenades the Groza carried. Once everyone was dead, he looted their bodies because if you're hated, at least reap some profit out of it. Also, he needed more ammo for his beloved Groza.

He could already see the walls surrounding the Freedom base. He was so close to his objective! With a renewed spring in his step, he continued ahead. Then he heard some noises coming from behind a rusted vehicle. His muscle memory acted for him and he fired. The bullets went through the decayed metal and something dropped to the ground with a foreboding sound.

It could have been a mutant, or a bandit, or a merc, or even a loner trying to kill him. But deep down, he feared the truth. With his anxiety spiking out of scale, he went to see what had he killed. It was a human body and yes, the corpse was wearing the Wind of Freedom suit. Shit. Maybe no one had noticed his slip?

A bullet embedded itself in the dirt, millimetres away from him. No, the snipers on the towers definitely noticed it. He ran away before one of their shots could strike true and kill him. Oh God, now all factions were out for his blood.

What now? He had everyone against him! Wasn't there any faction he could join that would protect him? He'd heard about the Monolith fighters, but he'd never seen one. Was it even a viable option, to get into Monolith? He then had a brilliant idea: the Wish Granter! If he found it, he could make everyone stop hating him. Yeah, he was a fucking genius. The Wish Granter would solve all his problems!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, go to the Wish Granter, sweetie, what could go wrong? XD
> 
> This is based on the absolute mess that was one of my first experiences with Shadow of Chernobyl.


	5. The Long Road - part 1 (Scar x Strelok)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the longest fic I've ever written (at least for now). I'm splitting this in two parts, I'll post the second one in a few days.

In Scar's opinion, there had never been a more appropriate time to use the expression _raining with a vengeance_. Normal raining, even torrential rain, was nothing like this. This was like a flood. Water came pouring down like a waterfall, drenching you to the very bones and making it nearly impossible to see anything further than a hand span away from your face. It didn't help that sun had already set.

He had no idea of where he was. Okay, that wasn't exactly true. He knew he was in Limansk, but he didn't exactly know where in the city he was. He would check it on his PDA, but Scar wasn't one hundred percent sure the water would not damage it. That supposing he could decipher the display on the screen under such deluge. He could sort of see the indistinct shape of a big building looming ahead. That meant refuge and a roof to sleep until the raining stopped, or until morning. Whichever came first. Scar just hoped it wasn't too irradiated or worse, crawling with Monolith troops. He'd had enough of Monolith for the rest of his life.

It turned out to be a familiar looking building. He'd been here before. Still, that didn't save him from stepping into the overflowing pond on his way to the entrance. Fuck, he was now drenched to his socks. At least this time there was no barbed fence barring the entrance to the building. Once on the inside he now checked his PDA. There was someone else here, another person. He supposed it would be a lost bandit or a renegade, Monolith always went in groups. Scar didn't even bother turning off the flashlight, he just went in search of the bandit. He would kill him and then find a decent spot to sleep.

#

Strelok was tired. Not just a physical tiredness, but an emotional one as well. His life had been such a rollercoaster in the last weeks: becoming amnesiac, being tasked to basically kill himself, recovering his memory, going to Pripyat and facing hordes of Monolith bastards, infiltrating the CNPP _and_ destroying the C-Consciousness. And that was the condensed version. If it was up to him, he would just lie in a ditch and sleep in the grass. Unfortunately, he couldn't do that forever.

A small group of Monolithians spotted him this past morning and took great exception to his presence. The persistent sons of bitches had been chasing him from a distance since then. Nothing like the occasional sniper shot aimed at him to motivate Strelok to run faster. Then came the rain; thick, persistent rain. At least it would serve to shake them off his trail, or so he hoped. Anyways, he could always be ambushed by another Monolith group here in this city. In deserted urban spaces it was always a possibility, and his unfamiliarity with this place put him at a disadvantage.

The sun was setting. Soon it would get dark, well, darker than it had been all afternoon long. Strelok decided to take shelter in a big nearby building, some kind of institute or something similar. He would find a place to spend the night, and spare himself the torture of walking around in the dark, under heavy rain, in a city he'd never been in before.

#

Scouring the building was an eerie experience. Scar almost expected to stumble into someone wearing the _Clear Sky_ uniform every time he turned a corner. It was like chasing ghosts.

He'd been as loud as possible, trying to lure whoever was there out of its hiding place, but no luck so far. He started to think there was nobody else in the building and his PDA was faulty. Then he finally heard a faint noise coming from one of the dark rooms. Good, at last a clue to follow. He readied his rifle, and then went into the room. A jarring impact rattled him when he collided against someone at the door's threshold.

It was not a bandit. And his face was unmistakeable. Strelok. The man looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights. They stood there, looking at each other, not daring to move. Strelok's gaze went from confused to startled realization. He narrowed his eyes and moved his gun, the intent to shoot Scar plainly written in his face. Nevertheless, Scar was quicker. He wacked Strelok up the head with the butt of his Vintar, and Strelok fell down like a sack of flour. Well, that had been unexpected.

Deciding to play it safe, Scar took all of Strelok's weapons (including the knife) and tied his hands with a spare bandage, because there was nothing else around he could use. What was he going to do with him?

He could finish his assignment and kill Strelok, but it was pointless now. Besides, he didn't work for free, and there was no _Clear Sky_ faction anymore. Lebedev and the rest were dead; or, if they were unlucky enough to survive massive amounts of psy damage, they would now be part of the brainwashed forces of Monolith. Killing Strelok now would achieve nothing. So he wasn't going to kill the stalker, at least for now, but neither could he let him go free. He'd already seen that Strelok didn't have any qualms about trying to shoot him in the face.

He gave up on thinking what to do with his captive. Strelok was unconscious and tied up, he wasn't going anywhere. Scar moved him to a corner of the room, tied his feet as well just in case, and then lied down on the floor to sleep.

#

The first thing Strelok noticed upon waking up was the throbbing pain on the side of his head. Ouch, he must have hit his head really hard. Then he remembered the night before. Scar had found him! He opened his eyes and there he was, sleeping just a few meters away. He had to flee. Then he noticed he couldn't move freely and Strelok panicked. His hands and feet were tied! He squirmed, trying to slip free of his restraints, but it wasn't working. Fuck!

"Stop it." Scar grumbled. His thrashing must have woken him up. Then he proceeded to calmly check his PDA and eat a loaf of bread, like having Strelok tied up at his feet wasn't worthy of more than a passing glance. Eventually, he finished and regarded Strelok with a strange expression on his face.

"And what now? You kill me here or do you prefer to make me run for a while before shoot me in the back?"

"Don't be stupid, if I wanted to kill you, you'd be already dead." Scar answered him while he picked up his backpack and Strelok's confiscated weapons. "I'm going to untie your feet. Don't make me regret it, ok?" The mercenary warned him.

If looks could kill, Scar would have dropped dead in the spot. However, the mercenary didn't seem very impressed with Strelok's hate filled stare. He was sorely tempted to kick the bastard in the face, but that would only worsen his situation.

It was a miserable experience for Strelok. He was made to walk all morning in front of Scar, hand still tied because the mercenary didn't trust him unbound. Smart of him. He remembered all too well how the mercenary relentlessly followed him across the Zone, hunting him like an animal. It was because of him and his damned _Clear Sky_ friends that Strelok ended up amnesiac. And if he remembered correctly, it was also their fault that Fang died. Yes, Strelok would not doubt to jump at him and try to kill him if he wasn't tied and unarmed.

The day was oddly peaceful in the ghost town of Limansk. The most dangerous thing they encountered was a cluster of whirligigs in the middle of the road and a heavily irradiated construction site, but otherwise nothing worth worrying about. They should have known that peace didn't last long in the Zone. At some point Strelok's old Monolith chasers caught up with them. And they brought reinforcements. They fell upon them like an avalanche, shooting at them, while a pair of snipers shot from the balcony of a nearby building. At least none of them had a Gauss Rifle. Scar bodily dragged him behind a rusted car.

"Stay put and don't try anything stupid." The mercenary warned him.

He took up his Vintar and focused on taking out the snipers. The mercenary shot twice and then changed his focus of attention to the approaching Monolithians on the other side of the street. Strelok tugged with his teeth at the bindings on his wrists, loosening the bandage enough to move his hands a bit. After some more twisting, he eventually got his hands free.

The mercenary was completely focused on killing the Monolith troops, with his back to Strelok. If he was quick enough, this was the perfect opportunity to take something out of the mercenary's backpack. Like for example, one of his weapons. He could see the shotgun poking out, so he decided to risk it. He really hoped Scar hadn't bothered to unload his weapons, otherwise this would prove useless.

Strelok yanked the shotgun out in a fluid movement. Of course, Scar noticed it. He turned around, furious. Strelok went beneath the vehicle and rolled to the other side. Right after emerging from beneath the car, he came face to face with a surprised Monolithian. He fired his shotgun and the man stumbled back, a dark red stain expanding on his chest. Thank God it was still loaded. Strelok shot him again, just to be sure. The Monolithian fell to the ground with a dull thud. He saw another one further away go down with a bullet in his head, courtesy of Scar and his Vintar.

He ran to the nearest tree and hid behind it, then surveyed the street. The reason he'd taken his shotgun back was to kill Scar, but it was actually more advantageous to have the mercenary alive and helping him kill those angry Monolithians. So for now he would not turn against him, at least not until the Monolith guys were all dead. Strelok gunned down one of them that got too close to where he was hiding. A bullet sailed inches away from his face, courtesy of yet another sniper, and Scar made quick work of him.

The usual cacophony of a gunfight was suddenly drowned by a hellish chorus of menacing growls and barking. A pack of wild dogs poured in from an adjacent street. It wouldn't be a great problem if there were only blind dogs since those were cowardly beasts. The problem was the half dozen pseudo-dogs leading the pack.

#

The dogs came out of nowhere, or so thought Scar. The pack of beasts quickly swarmed up their improvised battlefield, lured in by the smell of fresh blood. Scar made good use of his enemies' distraction and shot down one of the Monolithians, who'd been too busy shooting at the dogs to remember he was in the middle of a firefight. Scar saw another Monolithian on the ground, being torn apart by the dogs. His raw screams were one of the worst things Scar heard in a long time. It was a horrible way to die and Scar actually thought about gifting him a quick death, but his screams soon turned into low, wet gurgles and then stopped.

However, not all the pseudo-dogs were feasting on the dead, a couple of them were chasing someone else. Strelok. The stalker was running like the wind, coming back to Scar's position. He trained his Vintar on the pseudo-dogs, but judging by Strelok's reaction the stalker thought he was aiming at him. One of the pseudo-dogs lunged against Strelok and Scar shot at the beast. The stalker's astonished face was priceless.

While Strelok finished off the injured pseudo-dog, Scar jumped on top of the rusted car's hood to get away from the dogs swarming him. He shot at them, spraying blood and fur on the asphalt. Some ran away hurt and yelping, and some continued growling and trying to jump after him. Meanwhile, Strelok finally arrived there and jumped on the car as well. They were face to face, eyeing each other warily. However, they had more pressing concerns right now. Like the furious, vicious dogs trying to rip them to shreds.

By silent agreement, they started shooting at the beasts at the same time. Strelok killed the ones closest to them with the shotgun, while Scar took care of the pseudo-dogs with his rifle. Perhaps the pseudo-dogs were mostly chewing on the fallen Monolithians, but Scar didn't want to risk being jumped by one of them later on. He shot down most of them, but two were still missing. Strelok stopped to reload the shotgun, so Scar took out his pistol, a Martha, and killed the blind dogs still circling around the car.

Like summoned by his earlier thoughts, the remaining two pseudo-dogs appeared around a corner. Scar emptied the pistol's magazine on one of them. The other jumped at Strelok while he was still reloading and dragged him down the car. The stalker rolled around, trying to evade the mutant's vicious attack. The first one wasn't dead either. Instead of reloading the pistol, Scar grabbed his rifle and finished off the pseudo-dog. Then he focused his attention on Strelok. He saw the stalker trying to hit the mutant with his shotgun like it was melee weapon, in a desperate attempt to get away from the pseudo-dog. That only enraged the animal. The beast got him by the leg and shook its head, tearing into the flesh. Strelok screamed in pain.

Scar shot at the pseudo-dog once, twice, thrice. Finally, it died. He jumped down the car and approached Strelok. He dragged the animal's carcass off of the injured stalker and caught a flash of fear on Strelok's eyes when he saw him, rifle still in hand. He kicked the shotgun out of his grasp, just in case he got any funny ideas.

"What am I going to do with you?" The stalker only meant trouble and headaches, Scar was sure of that.

"If you're going to kill me, make it quick." Strelok hissed between pained groans.

The stalker's leg was a disaster. Pieces of torn fabric clung to the wound, soaked in blood. The bite wound was a ghastly sight, the flesh torn by deep tears and lacerations that bled profusely. Strelok could count himself lucky if the bone wasn't splintered or crushed. It definitely was easy to feel sympathy for him right now.

Scar ignored his earlier question and fished around the backpack for a medkit, one of the military issued packages. Strelok's trouser leg was so torn he didn't need to rip it to treat the wound. Scar cleaned the wound as best as he could, but that wasn't enough. It hadn't stopped bleeding and probably needed to be stitched. He could try to just bandage it, but he knew it wouldn't do much. The only good news was that the bone didn't seem damaged, as far as he could tell.

"Why are you doing this?" Strelok asked him, clearly confused.

"Because I'm a fucking saint, obviously." Scar deadpanned. It was an excellent question. One he couldn't really answer. He still didn't know if it was out of gratitude for not turning against him while they fought, or if it was a rare act of compassion or what.

"Need to take the Urchin off before I bleed to death." Strelok said with urgency.

He fiddled with the containers on the belt and took out the artifact. Scar put it in the backpack, taking great care to not prick himself on the spiky surface.

"That will help but this still needs stitching." Scar warned him.

He had some experience dealing with bad wounds, but he was far from being an expert. At least it wasn't the first time he stitched someone. Strelok passed out soon after Scar started the process. It was for the best.

#

Time became a blurred haze for Strelok. His last coherent memory was getting attacked by the pseudo-dog, and then Scar showed up like a knight in shining armour. Except in such scenarios, one usually didn't fear the saviour could blow your head off as well. He vaguely remembered Scar cleaning his wounded leg and trying to stitch it closed. After the pain came the darkness, and then all sense of time went out of the window.

Whatever else he remembered, it had a dreamlike quality to it; he couldn't be sure they weren't hallucinations induced by the pain or the blood loss. Someone carried him around, his head against a hard backpack; lying on a lumpy surface that smelled musty...

He awoke to rumbling thunder, reddish light filtering into the darkness. Strelok sat up startled, he had to find a refuge if he wanted to survive the blowout!

Wide awake now, and aware of his surroundings, he realised he was already indoors. He'd apparently been sleeping on a ratty couch, covered with a dusty and moth-eaten blanket. He supposed all this must have been the mercenary's doing. It was quite difficult to wrap his mind around the fact Scar had taken care of him and, most probably, saved his life. Which made him wonder where was said mercenary now. The light filtering through the windows was redder with each passing moment and the emission would soon be deadly.

"I see you're awake." Scar's voice startled Strelok. When he surveyed the room before, he hadn't noticed the mercenary sitting quietly in a shadowed corner.

"How long did I sleep?"

"You were out of it since yesterday afternoon."

A horde of questions danced in Strelok's mind, most of them starting with _Why_ , but the mercenary had already proved he wasn't going to answer those truthfully.

"Thank you, I guess," he finally said. The words were heavy and bitter on his tongue.

They sat in silence, enduring the trembling ground and thunderous noise that always accompanied the emissions. Strelok blindly played with the frayed blanket, tugging at the threads until they unravelled. It was difficult to see much in the hellish red twilight, but at least this time Strelok didn't see ghostly figures attacking him. He hated those illusions. Eventually, the thundering faded and the sky cleared again, like that terrifying interlude never happened.

"Are you going to tie me up again?" Strelok broke the tense silence.

He could try to fight him, but he was unarmed and his wounded leg was a liability. The odds were definitely not in his favour.

"Are you going to try to kill me?" The mercenary asked him in return. Strelok remained stubbornly quiet. "Look, if you agree that we're even and don't try anything funny, you're free to go. If not..."

Scar's answer surprised him. He wanted Strelok to forget about the past? The blowout had definitely messed him up.

"Are you out of your mind? You and your _Clear Sky_ pals made my life hell, killed one of my best friends and are the reason I ended up with amnesia for weeks!" Strelok sputtered enraged.

"For me it was just a contract, nothing personal." Scar told him, like that absolved him of any responsibility! " _Clear Sky_ honestly thought you had to be stopped for the good of the Zone. Doesn't matter now. In case you haven't noticed, there is no more _Clear Sky_. Because of you, they're either dead or under the thrall of the Monolith."

They could all rot in Hell for all Strelok cared. Fang was dead. Strelok remembered how he had to flee for his life as Scar chased him relentlessly. He would never forget the panic he felt when they caught up with him in the CNPP and the mercenary fired that Gauss Rifle against him. And more recently, Scar hit him on the head and tied him up like a prisoner waiting for the execution. Except the execution never came. Instead, they fought together against Monolith and rabid dogs. And then he saved him from that pseudo-dog, and patched him up. It seems he even had taken care of him when he could just have left him to die. Ugh, why had he done that?!

"So what's your answer, are we even?" Scar asked him

"Alright, we're even." Strelok spat out, angry that he was forced to accept this. Strelok wasn't fit to run away or fight against Scar right now, and he supposed the mercenary's recent actions sort of made up for some of his past transgressions. Sort of.

The mercenary said nothing, he just looked at him intently. It was unnerving, those impossiby clear eyes seemed to pierce right through him. It sent shivers down Strelok's spine. He didn't know what Scar was searching for, but eventually he nodded.

#

After reaching such agreement, Scar told Strelok he was free to go if he pleased, and gave him his weapons back. The stalker eyed him with suspicion, and declared that he preferred to stay close and keep an eye on him, as he told Scar, because he didn't trust him at all. Apparently, he still expected Scar to shoot him in the back from afar. Fair enough, he didn't trust Strelok much, either. He would have sworn Strelok had been bitterly sincere when he agreed to bury the hatchet, but perhaps he'd been wrong and the stalker wanted to kill him in his sleep. Or perhaps Strelok didn't want to admit that, in his current state, he would probably need help to walk across the city and its obstacles.

Travelling together was mostly a silent, tense and awkward affair. They traversed Limansk at a slow pace, the city was difficult to navigate, especially if one wanted to avoid radiation hotspots, the odd Monolith patrol and bandits roaming around. It didn't help either that parts of the city were almost inaccessible, or some were even fenced off with barbed wire.

"Where are you actually headed?" Strelok asked him out of the blue.

"Someplace where I can drink and get a job. Like the _100 Rads_."

"I thought mercs stuck together in Wild Territory, killing stalkers and terrorizing the scientists. That's what they do best, isn't it?" Scar could say that Strelok's bitterness surprised him, but that would be a lie. Besides, what he said was _sort of_ true.

"I guess. The same way one could say that what stalkers do best is risking their lives stupidly and dying." Strelok didn't seem to appreciate Scar's quip very much, judging by his disgusted huff.

After that, a dense silence stretched between them. It wasn't until a good while later that Strelok broke it again. "So why won't you go back to Wild Territory? Did you kill someone of your own faction or is it something else?"

This question was missing much of the venom from before, so he decided to answer him instead of ignoring his question.

"Honestly, I just don't care. I'm getting too old to go back to an endless fight with Duty over a handful of railways and warehouses." That was true, there was nothing he missed from Wild Territory.

"Yeah, that place sucks big time. Mercs have lousy taste setting up base." Strelok chuckled. He looked oddly endearing when he wasn't frowning at him all the time.

They lapsed into silence once again. Thankfully, their brief exchange seemed to have defused the tension somewhat. The relative peace was broken once again that same evening, when Strelok saw a fruit punch anomaly between two buildings. The detector pointed there was a lone artifact lost in there, and of course Strelok wanted to get it. Scar couldn't understand why he wanted to hobble around an anomalous acid pool to retrieve a Bubble. Must be an instinct of all stalkers, to gather artifacts even if they had to risk their necks to retrieve it. In his opinion, it was much easier to just loot artifacts from your victim's belongings, or getting one in payment for killing said victim.

None of them noticed they were being observed. The chimera seemed to appear out of nowhere, leaping with deadly grace. Scar was thrown to the ground, ears ringing from the harsh impact. The chimera then pounced away and Scar finally could breathe again, now that he wasn't being crushed by the mutant. He knew the chimera would either leap at him once more and crush his neck in its mouth, or play with its prey by slashing him with those sharp claws. He desperately searched around for his Vintar, but it had fallen far away from him. The Martha was all he had right now. Except that wasn't one hundred percent true.

Surprisingly enough, Strelok came to his aid, shooting at the chimera with his SIG and attracting the mutant's wrath. A terrible clicking sound could be heard when the weapon jammed. The chimera leaped towards Strelok the moment he stopped shooting at it. Luckily, he evaded the attack, but his leg gave out on him and he fell to the ground as well. In the meantime, Scar got his pistol out and then he fired all fifteen rounds, one after the other, right into the mutant's back. The resistant bitch wasn't dead yet, but at least it was limping. It turned again towards Scar, and Strelok took it down with the shotgun. At long last, the chimera died. Both Strelok and Scar lay on the ground, panting in pain and exhaustion.

"I hate chimeras." Strelok declared from his spot on the ground. Scar couldn't agree more.

#

It must have certainly been a curious sight, Strelok pondered, a mercenary and a loner travelling together, both injured and tired. It sounded like the set up to one of those terrible jokes Ghost liked so much.

They continued their way until the sun started to set. Scar insisted that the tunnel that would lead them out of the city was close, and if they kept going they would be out of Limansk that same night. Yeah, Strelok heard about that passage. It led to the fucking Red Forest. He would sooner shoot himself in the foot than prance around Red Forest past nightfall. Scar was free to go on, if he wanted. However, he reluctantly agreed with Strelok. Probably because after being almost crushed by the chimera, he wasn't feeling so great either. They decided to find a place to set camp and rest, and maybe they would feel better in the morning.

Nevertheless, the houses they checked out turned out to be completely unsuitable. One was a giant nest of rats, better to stay the hell away from it. Another was so collapsed it was impossible to enter. And the other one was too radioactive, the dosimeter going crazy once they were inside. The last one seemed fine until Strelok noticed a faint distortion in the air. One bolt later the room was like an oven when no less than four burners started spouting fire. Scar just muttered " _like that damn tunnel in Wild Territory"_ , and it brought a small smirk to Strelok 's face. He remembered that place all too well, Kruglov almost got them both roasted in there.

The tunnel out of Limansk was their last option. It was just there, so close, and it offered good cover. It would be definitely better than staying out in the open or, God forbid, actually going to Red Forest. Strelok sincerely hopped nothing tried to get in from that side. Limansk was no walk in the park, but he remembered Red Forest being a radioactive hell full of Monolithians, zombies, bloodsuckers and home of at least one vicious psy-dog. He was pretty sure a pseudo-giant wouldn't fit in the tunnel, so that was something he didn't have to worry about.

The inside of the tunnel was full of old vehicles and the occasional pile of debris where the walls had started to fall down. They found the remains of a campfire between two rusted cars, the ashes cold and brittle. Well, that meant no one had been here in a while. It was a spot as good as any to pass the night. Strelok sat down and proceeded to change the bandages on his leg, while Scar searched the cars for anything that could be of use.

"Find anything good?" Strelok idly asked him, suppressing a wince of pain when he tied the bandages around his swollen wound. It would be a godsend if they found more medkits or bandages.

"A loaded Makarov and a bottle of vodka." Scar showed him his bounty. So no, nothing good. Nevertheless, he supposed it was better than nothing at all.

The vodka was always good. Perhaps they should have saved it for later, to deal with the radiation in Red Forest, but sometimes you just need a drink. They sat side by side, reclined against the decaying wall, sharing a bottle of vodka in silence. If someone had told Strelok a week ago that he would ever be this close to Scar willingly, and without trying to gut him, he would have never believed it. And yet, here he was. He blamed the vodka.

Although Strelok had to admit having some company was almost nice. Almost. He still wanted to strangle Scar most of the time, but Strelok would keep his word. They were even for now. However, he didn't know why he helped him before, with the chimera. He could have just finished off the mutant after it killed Scar. Yet somehow that idea didn't sit right with him. Maybe it was because Strelok was a good person deep down. He hoped it wasn't because of any misplaced feelings of gratitude, because... A blood chilling screech rang in the distance, shattering his train of thought. They looked at each other in alarm. After a few seconds, when no unknown mutant or dangerous beast appeared, they relaxed slightly. Whatever that was, at least it wasn't close to them.

"What the hell makes that noise?" Scar asked before taking a long gulp of liquor.

"I don't know, and I don't think I want to meet the creature." Strelok scratched his neck, trying to forget how that sound froze the blood in his veins and made him want to scoot closer to Scar.

"You could invent a story and scare the rookies like everyone does." The mercenary suggested.

"I think there are enough tall tales floating around." He remembered many scare tales being told around campfires, especially in the rookie's camp. The majority of them were nonsense, and the ones that were true were vastly exaggerated after several retellings.

"Did you ever hear that one about some kind marsh creature similar to bloodsuckers, which can imitate voices and then drag you underwater until you drown?"

"Yes, it was a popular story amongst _Clear Sky_ , even though their base was on a fucking swamp." Scar chuckled. He looked different when he did that, kinder. "I remember a fellow merc that used to swear there was an electric chimera roaming in Dark Valley. He said he fought against it, a monster that electrocuted its prey when it jumped at them. Bullshit."

From that point the conversation evolved into sharing some of the most outrageously fake stories that circulated in the Zone. Neither of them noticed it was the first time they carried on a wholly civil conversation for more than a minute. At some point, long after the vodka ran out and Scar closed his eyes, Strelok fell asleep against the mercenary's shoulder. He felt Scar putting his arm around him, but maybe he dreamt that part.

#

He awoke to total silence, yet Scar felt uneasy. Something wasn't right. However, he saw nothing unusual. His right side was unexpectedly cold, Strelok wasn't leaning against him anymore. What a shame, he'd felt so nice and warm pressed against his side.

The dim light of early morning painted some strange shadows on the tunnel walls, but nothing seemed to move around. Then he heard it, the wheezing sound and unnatural grunts. It sounded like a bloodsucker. They needed to get the fuck out of here. He elbowed Strelok to wake him up.

"Yes, I hear it." The stalker whispered, already awake. "Where's it coming from?"

"I'm not sure." He strained to hear better, but the sounds on the tunnel echoed weirdly. "Red Forest end, probably."

"I knew it." Strelok grumbled. Yeah, he could harp about how much he hated Red Forest all he wanted, once they were out of here.

Scar got up, ignoring the pain radiating from his stiff back, and helped Strelok up as well. The stalker gathered his backpack and went towards the exit to Limansk as quietly as possible. Scar followed behind him. The tunnel did indeed distort the sounds, but for a moment he believed he had the mutant just at his back, growling and grunting, prepared to attack. Scar halted and turned around, dreading what he might find. There was nothing. The noises echoed further down now and then stopped, like the mutant had gone away. He wasn't fooled, not even for a second. He observed the dark corridor intently and spied a pair of bright eyes in the distance. Shit, he hoped the bloodsucker hadn't seen him. Scar slowly backed away, paranoid that the mutant would attack him from behind the moment he turned away. Then he heard voices coming from the other end of the tunnel. That got his attention. Was Strelok saying something?

"And you said we wouldn't find anything worth it at these hours!" It wasn't Strelok talking.

That raised all kind of alarms in his mind. He would bet good money on bandits. God damn it that was the last thing they needed! He was too far away to hear everything they said, only the loudest words or sentences got to him. Scar crept closer, hidden in the shadows and readying his Vintar, waiting for the right moment to shoot.

"... it's better to rob the dead Yashka."

He was finally close enough to hear all they said. There were three bandits aiming their pistols at Strelok.

"First I want to have some fun. Don't you want to?"

He saw Strelok posture become rigid at such idea.

"S'not my type."

Scar watched the scene unfold through his scope. He followed the first guy's movements, ready to shot.

"Whatever Gleb, they all look the same from behind."

Scar pulled the trigger and observed with satisfaction as the bullet went through the bandit's head like it was a rotten watermelon.

"Fuck, this little shit wasn't alone!" The other bandit, Gleb, shot blindly in Scar's direction. He had a frightening accuracy, the bullets ricocheting uncomfortably close to him. Scar tried to gun him down, but he missed the shot.

The remaining bandit seemed to doubt between joining Gleb in his target practice or getting rid of Strelok. Making good use of his indecision, Strelok got his knife out and slashed the bandit's hand. The injured bandit screamed in pain and surprise as he dropped his pistol.

Amidst all this chaos, an invisible, hissing presence rushed past Scar, going directly to the thick of the action. All that noise had attracted the bloodsucker.

The mutant became visible and slashed at the face of Gleb the bandit, whom in turn emptied the pistol's clip shooting at the air, since the bloodsucker turned invisible once again and evaded the attack. Scar shot down the bandit while he was distracted by the mutant. Meanwhile, Strelok had managed to kill the other bandit, and now was nervously trying to locate the bloodsucker. Scar went out of the tunnel, also searching for the bloodsucker.

"Where the hell were you?" Strelok yelled at him. The grunting and hissing sounds came one moment from their right, next from the left. The bloodsucker was circling around them.

"I was trying to prevent the bloodsucker from following me," Scar replied.

"What an excellent job you did." The stalker deadpanned.

The bloodsucker growled and materialised before Strelok. He opened fire, making it stagger. Scar also turned around and shot at it. The damned thing still didn't die. It turned invisible once more and began their little dance around them again. The bloodsucker attacked Scar, catching him unaware and clawing at his right side. Strelok fired his SIG and half the bullets missed the target. The damn thing moved too quickly. It took yet another round of this weird choreography, with both Strelok and Scar shooting madly at it, until the bloodsucker dropped down.

"You alright?" Strelok asked while poking the mutant with the barrel of the rifle, making sure it was dead.

"Yeah, it only sliced my jacket." He liked his jacket, damn, but better to have holes on the coat than on his body.

Scar heard Strelok mutter something that sounded like _"figures, the lucky bastard,"_ and it brought a small smile to his lips. One of the bandits had been wearing an oversized trench coat, so Scar just took it. The bandit wouldn't need it anymore, and it was in better condition than his now slashed jacket. Of course, first he ripped out the faction patch on it; he wouldn't want to be mistaken for a bandit.

At long last they went into the tunnel and crossed into Red Forest.


	6. The Long Road - part 2 (Scar x Strelok)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised I would post this in a few days, so here it is. Hope you'll like it!

Red Forest was a wild ride from the start. They had just been ambushed by bandits and attacked by a bloodsucker before going there. Then, after coming out of the tunnel and crossing the drawbridge, they got caught in the crossfire between more bandits and the military. Scar and Strelok had no choice but fighting back to back, to cover each other. The bandits were dealt with swiftly, but the military posed a more serious problem. If it wasn't because one of the dead bandits had been carrying a grenade in his backpack, Strelok wasn't so sure they could have killed the military. Unfortunately, after that little blood bath, their reserves of ammo had dwindled dramatically.

Because their luck was simply that amazing, down the main road there was a huge Monolith patrol, of course. Strelok was surprised the drawbridge hadn't crashed down while they crossed, truly it was a miracle. The northern tunnel was inaccessible because, as Scar wasted no time in reminding him, Strelok blew it up the last time he was here. So their choices were either fleeing into the thick of the forest, or tackling down at least the Monolith squad. Thinking of their meagre ammo supplies, they went into the forest. Things hadn't really improved much since then.

"Are you sure you know where you're going?" Strelok asked for the third time.

"For the last time, yes!" Scar was starting to lose his calm. This place had the magic effect of souring everyone's mood.

He had let Scar lead the way because he claimed to remember this part of the forest well, while Strelok mostly remembered the part closest to the Scorcher. But he was starting to regret letting the mercenary lead, he was sure they were lost. Strelok continued trudging through the radioactive forest, following Scar. They definitely should have saved the vodka to wash away the radiation. True, the anti radiation meds were more effective, but they always left Strelok feeling like he was going to throw up. Mixed with the burning pain coming in waves from his leg, he felt even worse than when he awoke after the Death truck crash.

After who knows how much time going around the forest, Scar suddenly stopped to check the map on his PDA. In Strelok's mind, this confirmed his suspicions Scar had no idea where they were going. Strelok took a look around, trying to find a familiar landmark or something that wasn't just trees and more trees. At first he didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but soon he noticed a subtle wave in the air right in front of them. He threw a bolt and it bounced away mid air, making small distortion waves appear in that spot. Strelok threw some more bolts in different directions and all yielded the same results.

"You're leading us into a cluster of anomalies." Strelok informed him with an irritated huff. He would have added some other comment about Scar's incompetence, but he felt too tired to make the effort.

Scar threw a bolt of his own. The air rippled and the bolt bounced away, smacking him in the forehead. Serves him right for doubting Strelok.

"We'll have to take a detour." The mercenary announced, looking again at his PDA.

"Are you sure –"

"Shut up and try to keep up the pace." Scar didn't let him finish that question.

Later, after leaving behind the cluster of whirligigs, they arrived to a short tunnel full of snorks. Killing them was exhausting work, constantly evading their jumps, kicks and attacks. It was like fighting against an agile break dancer intent on mauling you. One of them kicked Strelok on the wound in his leg and sent him sprawling to the floor. The pain stole his breath away, like he'd been sucker punched, but he recovered in time to kill the mutant before it jumped at him. However, he needed Scar's help to get up. Also, he was out of buckshots, wasn't that awesome? He switched back to his SIG and followed Scar out of the tunnel.

They found a clearing on the other side of the tunnel. It was a small plain surrounded by ill looking tress. In the middle of it there was a strange formation of jagged rocks, like a rocky claw waiting to crush whoever walked beneath it. Charming. Strelok limped towards one of the smaller, flatter rocks and sat on it. He felt winded, like he'd been running for miles. Thank God for the artifacts he carried in his belt, to boost his endurance and health, otherwise he would have dropped down exhausted a long time ago.

"Alright there? You're looking pale as a ghost." Scar's concern annoyed him. What did he care?

"Peachy," he snapped, "just needed to catch my breath."

The mercenary walked up to him and put his hand on Strelok's forehead. What the hell was he doing?

"Get away from me!" Strelok shoved him away.

"I think you may have a fever." Scar sounded worried. Strelok scowled at him.

He wished Scar would stop with this _being concerned about him_ business. It made him uncomfortable. When he acted like a decent human being it was so easy to forget what he'd done in the past. They weren't friends and he didn't want the gratitude he sometimes felt towards him.

"I'm fine." Strelok lied. He didn't feel fine, he was tired as hell. But that didn't mean he had a fever. "It's the anti radiation meds, they make me feel sick as a dog."

Scar didn't make any other comments, thank goodness, he simply sat on the grass and took out a diet sausage. Strelok supposed he should eat something as well, he didn't remember the last time he ate. However, he wasn't hungry. He just needed to rest for a bit and then he'd be right as rain.

He observed the jagged rocks ahead. The ground near it was cracked in concentric rings. He'd seen similar formations before and would bet good money on that being an anomaly. If he looked hard enough he could almost distinguish a faint distortion in the middle. Then he saw a snork crawl out from there. Strelok raised his weapon and shot at it. The mutant became translucent and then blinked out of existence. He lowered his weapon, feeling like a moron. It was just an illusion.

"Calm down, it's the anomaly." Scar didn't look remotely concerned about that.

"This anomaly produces a psy field?" It was the only explanation for the hallucinations, but he never before found an anomaly that could do that. Scar just shrugged and continued eating.

Strelok closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He needed to clear his mind. They would soon continue walking and his wounded leg wasn't feeling up to the task; hell, Strelok himself wasn't feeling up to the task. A soft gust of wind filtered through the trees, like a whisper, and he suppressed a shiver. Red Forest never failed to give him the creeps, even the most innocuous things took on a twisted turn in here. The strange anomaly didn't help either, psy energy always felt like a strange buzzing in the back of his skull.

Eager to leave behind this place with the psy field generating anomaly, he announced he was ready to continue. Scar eyed him critically but said nothing. Good, he wasn't in the mood to put up with his concern and the uncomfortable feelings it stirred in him.

They left the clearing behind and advanced into the thick forest once more. The vegetation was dense and it was constantly getting caught in Strelok's torn trouser leg or poking him in the wound. Strelok was sure it was bleeding again. The constant stabs of pain were making him go slower and slower. God, it was torture. He dragged behind Scar, hoping the mercenary wouldn't notice.

A heavy, thumping sound came from somewhere on their left and Strelok stopped. He had a really bad feeling about this. He turned around and saw a pseudo-giant between the trees. Oh shit! He had no idea those things liked to roam in the forest; he'd always seen them on places devoid of thick vegetation, like plains, or even inside buildings. They couldn't kill it, not without wasting all their remaining ammo. And even then, their success was doubtful.

"We need to run." Scar needlessly urged him.

He didn't need to say that twice, Strelok had already started running as best as he could. Even if he was jogging more than running, he reacted faster than the mercenary. The pain was secondary to survival.

They ran for dear life, the pseudo-giant in hot pursuit of them. The ground echoed with the mutant's heavy footsteps, shaking like it was a small earthquake. It was terrifying, Strelok was sure the mutant would flatten them in a moment. To make things worse, soon they discovered they were sort of trapped. Right in front of them there was a thick belt of electros. What was better, getting trampled by the pseudo-giant or being electrocuted in the anomalies?

The anomalies were definitely the lesser evil. Strelok got closer to an electro and threw a bolt at it. The anomaly exploded in an electric discharge, but in the seconds it took to re-form he crossed over it. Now it was a matter of repeating the same with the next layer of anomalies. Scar quickly caught up and started doing the same. The pseudo-giant then stomped hard on the ground, like it was throwing a tantrum because they were getting away. The ground shook hard and they both stumbled. The momentary misstep made Scar get zapped. Painful but not lethal, as Strelok knew from past experiences. Scar was well enough to keep running, the electric shock a good incentive to just run faster and escape the field of anomalies.

The pseudo-giant followed them right to the anomaly belt. The mutant was too big and stomped over multiple electros, getting shocked over and over. It emitted a shrill cry of distress. Its fate was now to slowly die electrocuted, unless it succeeded in escaping from where it came; either way, it would top pursuing them. Thank God for small mercies.

They kept running for a little while just to be on the safe side. The more distance between them and the pseudo-giant, the better. Its anguished cries could still be heard, accompanied by the crackling sound of electric discharges.

Strelok felt short of breath and dizzy, the pain on his wounded leg pulsing madly along with his heartbeat. His bones weighed like they were made of lead and he felt like he'd been ran over by a car, yet he forced himself to carry on. He couldn't wait to be out of this forest.

#

The Red Forest was never-ending, or so it appeared to be. Scar knew he was on the right path, most probably. It was so easy to get lost in here, under the canopy of sickly leaves that kept the forest in half shadows. They had to take another detour to avoid a lethally irradiated area. The only warning they had before their dosimeters started a frenzied beeping was a lone stalker's body decaying beneath the undergrowth. There were more bodies further ahead, the flies buzzing over them like a beacon. They gave the area a wide berth and popped down some more anti radiation meds.

It felt like they had been walking forever. In fact they had been walking all day long since the sun was barely out. Scar was tired and his right foot still tingled from getting shocked by the electro. He could only imagine how Strelok was holding up. The stalker worried him, he looked sickly. A quick peek to the PDA informed him they were close to the Mining Complex, and from there they could take the road that would lead them out of Red Forest and into Army Warehouses.

The loud beeping noises coming from both their PDAs broke through the thick silence of the forest. It was a warning of an oncoming blowout. Fuck, couldn't they just a catch a break? Thankfully, they were more or less close to a safe place. Scar quickened his pace and Strelok followed him, dragging his feet like a zombie. He could already see the buildings through the trees' branches.

The old Mining Complex was down a slope, which turned out to be steeper than he anticipated. Scar slid down and gracelessly landed on his ass. On his part, Strelok's unsteady steps made him fall and tumble all the way down. Scar yanked him up, and had half a mind to carry Strelok this last stretch until they reached a safe haven, but the stalker refused his help and stubbornly carried on.

They took refuge in the same building where Forester used to live. There was no trace of the old man, not even his old hunting rifle hanging on the wall. Scar wondered what happened to him. Had the Zone finally claimed him or was he still alive somewhere else? Wherever the old man was, he most certainly wouldn't mind them taking shelter here. Strelok plopped down on a rickety chair, taking shuddering breaths like he'd ran a marathon. Never mind how much the stalker insisted he was fine, he wasn't.

"Let me take a look at that." Scar knelt before him and slowly unwrapped the bloodied bandages on his leg.

Strelok hissed in pain and looked like he wanted to complain, but in the end he said nothing. He was grateful Strelok didn't put up a fight, but Scar wasn't sure if his silence was a good sign or a bad one. Definitely a bad sign. The wound was a swollen, bleeding mess and he was sure it was infected. Shit. They had only a pair of basic medkits left and, for some reason, the only medkits that came with antibiotics (and anti rads) were the scientific ones. He scoured the cupboards in the vain hope of finding something, _anything_ , but of course there were no medical supplies just lying around waiting to be used.

The emission raged on the outside, flashes of red lightning accompanied by loud, rumbling noise. It went on and on. Rationally, Scar knew all blowouts lasted approximately the same amount of time, but this one seemed endless to him. The sooner they arrived to Army Warehouses, the sooner they'll arrive to the Freedom base. He'd been friends with a couple of guys stationed there. Good men, not like those uptight Duty assholes that looked down at mercs like they were no better than the dirt on their boots. He knew he would be well received at Freedom's base. And they would be decently stocked with medical supplies. Strelok needed those before his wound got even worse.

When the emission finally ended Scar wanted to get going, but Strelok proposed to investigate the complex and stay the night here. He was convinced the stalker didn't give a damn about exploring, he only wanted to stop walking for the day and was too stubborn to admit he wasn't fine as he insisted. However, they still had a good two hours before it was too dark to see anything, time enough to get to the Freedom base. In the end, Strelok relented and agreed to continue.

Scar kept a slow pace, unconsciously accommodating to Strelok's rhythm. At least walking on a road was much easier than going across the forest. It was a welcome respite. The shadows were not so oppressive here, despite the late hour, since there wasn't a thick cover of leaves blocking the light. Scar had been walking slowly, taking in on their surroundings and not paying much attention to what lied ahead on the road. None of them noticed the odd glimmer of light in the middle of their path, not until it was too late.

The small bubble appeared out of nowhere right in front of them, preceded only by a small flicker of light. Everyone in the Zone knew that most anomalies appeared and disappeared randomly after blowouts, but not many witnessed firsthand how a new anomaly was formed. No doubt it was a unique experience, but Scar was more worried about the fact it was expanding quickly and they were so close to it.

The bright bubble engulfed them. There was blinding flash of light and then an odd sensation, like being pushed into cold water. However, nothing sinister happened. They were still whole and unharmed. That was good. Also, they weren't on the same place as before.

"A teleporter," Strelok's voice was full of awe. "I've seen some before, in the CNPP. Those aren't common anomalies."

"Very interesting, but where are we now?" Scar grumbled, not sharing Strelok's fascination.

He disliked those things since the first time someone referred to them as _black holes_. Not a very reassuring comparison, even if it wasn't accurate. Nevertheless, such anomalies really were harmless. He just didn't like going through them. Scar checked his map and, according to his PDA, they were still in Red Forest, right at the other side of it. At least this time there was no Monolith patrols on the road.

"We're back at the beginning," Scar said aloud.

"I'm not going to cross all Red Forest again," Strelok warned him.

"No," Scar agreed. There was no way they were going to cross all the forest again. "I guess we're going to Yantar now."

Yes, Yantar would do nicely. If Scar remembered correctly, there was a permanent scientific outpost there. The only problem was that first they had to go through Dead City.

Despite what its name might suggest Dead City was, in fact, not dead. No, it was surprisingly full of people, mostly bandits and mercenaries tangled in a war to control the place. It also received the occasional mutant coming in from the Yantar border. Still, it was better than crossing Red Forest once more, or so he hoped.

It started raining the very moment they arrived to Dead City. Strelok needed his help to walk, he couldn't support much weight on his wounded leg, and Scar felt him shivering through the layers of damp clothing. The stalker radiated heat like a piece of burning coal even when soaked with cold rain. And yet Strelok didn't complain, in fact he hadn't spoken a word since they went through the teleporting anomaly.

Since it was getting dark, and Scar didn't know how long it would take them to reach Yantar's mobile lab, he proposed to spend the night in one of the empty buildings. Strelok agreed with a sigh of relief, and Scar felt bad for having forced him to go on in his current state. They took shelter in a small apartment block that looked identical to the others around. Scar sat on the floor and ate a can of tourist's breakfast while Strelok, at Scar's insistence, nibbled half-heartedly a loaf of bread. After they ate, the stalker took out his sleeping bag and fell asleep almost instantly.

Scar drifted between sleep and wakefulness, mindful of every noise he heard. He'd only been once in Dead City, a long time ago, but it was still the same shithole he remembered. Empty ruins of buildings lined the streets and the ever present smell of gunpowder and decay clung in the air. The sound of gunshots and screams were also a permanent fixture of this place, as mercenaries and bandits fought a never-ending war for this poor excuse of a city.

At some point past six in the morning he couldn't sleep anymore. A pale glow started to spread in the horizon and the sky lost its inky black colour, but the sunrise would yet take its time to arrive. The sounds of the firefight had slowly died down during the night, and Scar thought it would be a good moment to get out of here. He woke Strelok and the stalker got up reluctantly. A full night's sleep hadn't done him much good, he was all drenched in sweat and haggard. Scar helped him change his bloody bandages again, and the wound was even worse than yesterday. The faint red lines radiating from it were most worrying.

"It's infected, isn't it?" Strelok asked him. He didn't look worried, just deadly tired. He cracked a weak smile, "you may have been right yesterday, about me having a fever."

"Can you walk properly?"

"I think so." Strelok didn't sound very sure of that, but they set off all the same. Waiting wouldn't really help.

The roads on the outskirts were blessedly empty, luck appeared to be on their side for once. They only encountered a pair of distracted bandits on the road. Despite his sluggish reaction, Strelok managed to killed one of them, and Scar put the other down before he realised what happened to his companion. They looted the bodies in search of ammo, found nothing useful, and then continued walking.

The gunshots came back once more, muffled, coming from the nearby school. For fuck's sake, how many people were fighting for this worthless place? They stuck to roads on the city fringes, hoping to avoid this new firefight. Nevertheless, the school was unavoidable, it sat right in the edge of their path. Screams and gunshots echoed inside it, and a mercenary group was taking positions on the entrance. No one paid them any mind, too wrapped up in their assault to notice two figures scurrying down the road.

Dead City was connected to Yantar through the old factory. The last time Scar was in Yantar it was impossible to go very far into the factory without risking brain damage, due to the intense psy field that used to shroud the area. But according to the news he read some time ago, it was safe to go into the factory now. Well, as safe as a mutant den can be.

Their luck ended the moment they reached the gate that connected Dead City with the Yantar factory. The exit was open and overflowing with zombified stalkers. Shit. The zombies didn't seem to have a destination in their empty minds, they just shambled around, mumbling and dragging their weapons, and occasionally stopping dead on their tracks like a toy that ran out of batteries. Still, it was better to not underestimate them.

"What's the matter?" Strelok asked him when Scar stopped in the middle of the road.

"Zombies," was the laconic answer.

"Then we take them out." Scar had to admit, Strelok was a determined bastard, even if he looked like he was one step away from collapsing.

"How many bullets do you have? Because I'm almost out of ammo."

"Same here," Strelok admitted with a sigh. "Let's hope it's enough."

The good news was that after putting several bullets in a zombie, they would fall down and convulse on the ground. Even though they weren't dead, if they were on the ground at least they weren't shooting at Scar and Strelok. Also, the zombies' bad coordination meant their aim was crap. Even so, Scar had one bullet graze his upper arm. It burnt and it bled, but it was just a superficial injury.

The bad news was that Scar quickly went through his remaining ammo and now he was down to the loaded Makarov he'd found back in Limansk. Strelok had also run out of bullets, judging by the sad clicking sound coming from his SIG. At least they were done here, more or less.

With the zombified stalkers either dead or temporarily down, they crossed the gate and ventured into the maze that was the factory. Strelok tried to walk as fast as possible, but he limped too much and could barely support any weight with his bad leg. Scar helped him walk like he did last night. He put the feverish stalker's arm on his shoulders and held Strelok by the waist, his hand landing on a patch damp with warm blood. It seemed one of the zombies' bullets had grazed him as well. Scar dragged the wounded stalker as fast as he could, evading the occasional shot from the zombies that had already gotten up from the ground.

"I'm sick of everyone trying to kill me," Strelok panted. Scar had no doubt that was a not so subtle dig against him.

"Yeah, surely I have no idea how that feels." Being a mercenary normally didn't garner much sympathy among stalkers from other factions, it was not uncommon to be received with a hail of bullets.

The maze-like complex usually was full of snorks and zombies, but right now it was deceptively empty. The weak light of early morning made the burnt fuzz hanging from the buildings look like sinister draperies that cast distorted shadows everywhere. The oppressive silence and the general aura of wrongness in this place always made Scar's hair stand on end.

"At least they give up easily," Strelok commented with a sigh, looking back at their scatter brained pursuers. "I gotta admit, of all people who tried to kill me, you were the most persistent one."

Scar didn't deign to reply to that beyond a small grunt. If Strelok started needling him, he would drop him like a sack of potatoes. His good will only went so far.

"You were also the most attractive one." Scar nearly chocked. Alright, that had been completely unexpected. Strelok was oblivious to his puzzlement and continued his drowsy ramblings. "It's mostly the... your eyes... it sends shivers down my spine every time you look at me."

"I think you might be delirious." That was the only explanation of why the stalker was saying this.

He would think about Strelok's ramblings later, when they weren't in immediate danger. Right now, Scar preferred to focus on the group of snorks he spotted in the distance. Everything would be fine as long as they didn't come closer. The eight rounds of his Makarov wouldn't do much against them all.

The landscape became more familiar after he turned around a corner. The rusted crates, decayed buildings and piles of corpses were something difficult to forget. They were closer to the entrance of the complex. Strelok stumbled and slipped on a half eaten and rotted corpse. Scar gripped him tighter and, after a second's hesitation, hoisted him up and carried him over his shoulders.

"We're lucky I'm the one that can't walk... I don't think I could carry you around." Strelok mumbled as he let himself sag against Scar's shoulder.

He said nothing. The stalker's body was too hot, almost unbearably so, especially in contrast to the cold morning air. Thank God they would soon be out of here, he could already see the exit. There were more zombies shuffling around the main yard, slowly coming towards them. If it was necessary, Scar would run the last stretch of the way to get out of this damned factory.

#

Strelok woke up to an uncommon situation: he was lying on a bed, in a room with no holes on the walls, and a roof over his head. The place looked familiar, but it could be because it was a prefab and they all looked the same. When he tried to move, he noticed he was connected to an IV drip. That was odd, not even Doc used an IV drip. Carefully, very carefully, he took out the needle from his arm.

He didn't remember how he arrived here, wherever _here_ was. Had he fainted again? Strelok hoped that wasn't the case, it would be embarrassing. Although fainting seemed to be becoming his specialty: he fainted on labs X-18 and X-16, and he also passed out when Scar had sewn the wound on his leg. Scar... Oh God, he remembered some of the things he told the mercenary, before allegedly fainting, and he felt shame consume him. He should have never said such nonsense. Thank goodness he didn't have to face Scar now, the mercenary probably dumped him here and then left. It was more than he ever expected from him.

The peaceful silence was interrupted by the sound of unhurried footsteps coming closer and closer. An old man dressed with a green lab coat entered the room, carrying another bag for the IV drip, bandages and medkits.

"It's good to see you're awake young man." Professor Sakharov greeted him and dropped what he was carrying on top of the other bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Slightly confused?" Truly that was quite a normal state of being for Strelok, especially during his time as Marked One.

"I'd say that's quite normal after sleeping for nearly three days." Sakharov eyed the discarded needle of the IV drip with a frown, clearly not happy that Strelok had taken it off on his own. "The bullet wound on your waist should be fine, but I need to make sure the bite isn't infected again."

Strelok let the professor change the bandages and inspect his leg. He was sure it was heaps better than what he remembered, since this time there was no constant pain radiating from it. Sakharov didn't find anything to complain about and re-bandaged his leg.

"You said I'd been here for three days?" Strelok asked with curiosity. Three days was a long time.

"Hmm, looks alright, but you should still take antibiotics," Professor Sakharov handed him a sealed blister of pills. "Yes, your friend brought you here three days ago. Don't worry, he's still around. He was kind enough to accept to run a few errands for me."

"He's not my friend," Strelok quickly replied. And of course the mercenary was kind enough to accept whatever job the professor offered him, the scientists had a reputation of paying well.

"Really? I would say that anyone who comes check on your progress every day is definitely a friend. Never mind, I have work to do and surely you'll have something to do as well."

The professor left, leaving behind all the supplies he dumped on the other cot. Strelok sat on the bed and eyed them, tempted to take them all. One never knew when such supplies could come in handy when you were out there exploring. However, out of respect for Professor Sakharov, he didn't take anything.

The bunker was as poorly lit as he remembered. After taking his weapons from the locker where they were stashed, Strelok decided that he'd like to take a walk outside and bask in the sunlight. He went out of the small room and into the corridor, where he crashed against a pile of crates occupying a dark corner. Angry, high pitched squeals came from inside the crate he'd kicked and Strelok jumped startled. He realised the crates must contain mutants for studying, probably rats, and felt quite foolish for his reaction. The surprised jump had jarred his bad leg, but thankfully it barely hurt. It was such a stark difference from the agonizing pain he remembered from before.

The enclosed area around the bunker was a lot livelier than the last time he visited this place. A small group of scientists, all clad in brightly coloured protective suits, took some measurements and argued about the results, while a group of stalkers patrolled around. A couple of guys in Duty uniform stood guard in the entrance. That was always a good signal.

There wasn't much sun outside, but he still appreciated the fresh air. It was reinvigorating. For the first time in weeks, he felt fine. Not stressed, or in pain. Maybe he should take some time off, go visit Doc and let him know he was still alive. Yes, that sounded like a plan.

There was a small commotion in the yard as the Duty guards aimed their guns at someone. However, they quickly relaxed once more. A tall figure entered the enclosure, throwing a dismissive glance to the Dutyers, and went direct to Strelok.

"Took you long enough to wake up." The mercenary slung the Vintar over his shoulder. He stood close to him, perhaps too close. Strelok took one step backwards.

"I thought you would be drinking on the _100 Rads_ by now."

"The scientists had some jobs for me. Besides, after all the effort I put into keeping you alive I was sort of interested in how you were doing." Scar answered like it was no big deal, but it was. At least to Strelok it was.

"And why did you put so much effort in it? If I had been in your place, I would have been tempted to leave me behind." Yes, if they switched positions, he would have been so tempted to leave an injured enemy behind. Except they weren't enemies anymore, were they?

"Who says I wasn't tempted?" Scar chuckled and shook his head. "Maybe I'm a better person than you thought, or maybe I'm easily fooled by a cute face."

Oh, so Scar remembered _that_ part of his delirious ramblings. Strelok scowled at him. "If you're mocking me–"

"And if I'm not?"

Strelok was rendered speechless. What was Scar playing at? The mercenary was looking at him in that damnable way that made him feel strangely anxious. Strelok nervously licked his lips and looked back at him, unable to move or even think properly.

"Marked One, I'm glad to see you're alright!"

Kruglov's cheerful greeting brought everything to a grinding halt. Strelok felt a curious mix of relief and disappointment that they were interrupted, and decided to focus on the relief. He seized the opportunity to put as much distance as possible between him and Scar, so he followed Professor Kruglov around the yard, idly listening to the man's rambling.

#

Scar mentally cursed Kruglov to hell and back as he watched Strelok walk away with the scientist. Fuck, just when things were getting interesting...

Seeing as Strelok had run away with the scientist, Scar went into the mobile lab. He had the specimens Professor Sakharov asked for, even if he had no idea what was so fascinating about bloodsucker skin and tentacles. Scar also informed Sakharov he accepted to carry out that one mission they had talked about. The good professor basically wanted him to scavenge the _Clear Sky_ base and gather all the scientific information they left behind. Of course, he used words like ' _recover invaluable information that should not stay lost'_ instead of scavenge, but the idea was the same.

During his conversation with the professor, he saw Kruglov enter the bunker and go into the proper lab area. Strelok was with him, although the stalker went into the room to take his backpack and then exited the bunker again.

Talking with Professor Sakharov was never a lengthy process, the man was always polite but eager to go back to his experiments. That suited Scar just fine. He updated this new task in his PDA and then went in search of Strelok. He found him in the back end of the enclosure, asking another stalker about the new paths they recently opened to the southern areas. Interesting.

"Going somewhere?" Strelok froze in place and slowly turned around. The other stalker beat a silent retreat when he saw Scar arrive.

"Well, yes. I think it's time we part ways. You've found some work here, and if you still want to go to the bar, Rostok isn't that far. My leg's better now, and I'm going to the swamps... So I guess this is goodbye." Strelok walked out of the scientist's camp and into the marsh.

He followed the stalker and didn't even bother to hide his smirk. "The swamps? What a coincidence, I'm going to the swamps as well."

"What do you mean you're also going to the swamps?! Is this a joke? What business could _you_ have there?" Scar just shrugged, loving how it riled up Strelok. He sounded outraged, like Scar was doing all this just to spite him.

"Not a joke. Professor Sakharov asked me to raid the old _Clear Sky_ base," Scar answered. At the mention of the disappeared faction Strelok narrowed his eyes. Apparently that was still a touchy subject for him.

"And you intend to follow me," Strelok realised. "Did you forget the path to the fucking swamps or do you just enjoy aggravating me?"

"Seeing as we're going to the same place, I thought you wouldn't mind some company. Especially after you admitted you find me attractive." Yes, he definitely enjoyed aggravating Strelok.

"Don't bring that up ever again!" Strelok stopped walking and poked him in the chest for emphasis. He could see a flush was starting to spread on the stalker's face.

Following an impulse, Scar grabbed Strelok by the shoulders and kissed him. He was pleasantly surprised when Strelok kissed him back, grabbing the front of his suit and yanking Scar even closer, his fists bunching the fabric tightly. When they broke apart they stood rooted on the spot, looking at each other wide eyed and taken aback at what just happened.

Whatever they were going to say next was forestalled by the crazed beeping of their PDAs. Strelok seemed grateful for this distraction and quickly grabbed his PDA. Then his expression changed into one of disbelief mixed with horror. Scar quickly understood why when he started reading the messages.

_15:49 – Yuri Milkman, Ecologist._

_I'm seeing a merc and a loner kissing, near the Yantar marsh._

_15:50 – Vasile Whiner, Loner._

_That's disgusting and unnatural!_

_15:50 – Anton Unlucky, Duty._

_Shut up dude, no one cares about your opinion._

_15:51 – Danko Banana, Loner._

_Yeah, you're just bitter no one wants to kiss you._

_15:51 – Semyon Explorer, Ecologist._

_The loner is Marked One, I've seen him talking with Prof. Kruglov a while ago._

_15:52 – Seryoga Thunder, Duty._

_He could do better than that, mercs aren't trustworthy._

_15:53 – Valera Hipster, Ecologist._

_I think it's great, good for them!_

And it went on and on. Fuck, stalkers sure loved gossiping like bored babushkas. Scar was tempted to go back and yell at them to mind their own business, but that would only add fuel to the rumour mill. Strelok turned off and pocketed his PDA, covered his face with both hands for a second and took a deep breath.

"Just letting you know I totally blame you for this." Strelok announced in a biting tone. He then turned around and continued walking.

"I'm not the one spreading gossip like a fishwife," Scar grumbled, following him.

They ignored the continued beeping of the incoming messages on the PDAs and marched onwards, arguing about whose fault it was that they were the talk of the Zone now. It was a long and harsh journey going to the swamps. However, travelling with company for once would certainly make the experience interesting. Strelok's lack of further complaints to his presence made Scar think he thought the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am tempted to write a crackier sequel/epilogue about the gossip reaching Doc and his reaction to it. XD


	7. Off Record (Degtyarev & Strider & Vano)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's have a piece of drunken fluff between friends, because why not.

Major Alexander Degtyarev had a problem. In truth, being an undercover SBU agent in the Zone, he had many problems. However, the most pressing issue right now wasn't to uncover the reason why the Stingrays crashed; neither was it finding a way to get into Pripyat. No, right now his most pressing problem was to descend the tower's stairwell without tripping down. He managed to do it, of course, and Degtyarev felt absurdly proud of himself. It was no mean feat going down the stairs without stumbling when you were fucking wasted.

It all began when he brought the Underpassschematics to Nitro, and then the stalker advised him to talk with Zulu to assemble a team for the expedition to Pripyat. Fine by him, that was pretty sensible advice. After all, there's was safety in numbers, going down there on his own would definitely be a Bad Idea. So Degtyarev went in search of Zulu.

It was sort of a mystery why this guy lived so close to Yanov station and yet he was never seen amongst the rest of the stalkers. Maybe he was some sort of hermit. Degtyarev hoped if this was the case, at least he wouldn't be as paranoid as Noah. Meeting Noah had been a slightly unsettling experience. Apart from almost getting shot in the face just for knocking on the door, he spent all the time half-expecting Lassie to jump at his throat. Who the fuck sees a human killing mutant and thinks _"Yes, I'm gonna adopt this monster,"_ and to top it off names it Lassie?

Degtyarev went up the tower's stairwell shouting _"Hello! Anyone here?"_ to announce his presence. No one answered. And yet his PDA pointed there was someone up top. He arrived to a small room and saw a man sitting cross-legged on top of a cot. Was he sleeping? It didn't seem so, unless he slept with his eyes open.

"Are you Zulu?" Degtyarev thought it was a pretty stupid question, but he wanted to see if the man would stop looking at the wall and answer him.

"What's up man?" He would take that as a yes.

Being the practical and efficient man he was, Degtyarev wanted to get straight to business. Zulu agreed, although he had a curious idea of what a serious discussion implied. Their conversation was like a crash course on how to get shitfaced. Although he had to admit, the guy was actually raising some good points and giving nice advice. But every issue they discussed needed to end with a toast. Every single one. Degtyarev was afraid to know how much he actually drank, matching Zulu drink for drink. At some point he even started to suspect the other stalker was trying to poison him.

But no, the ex-Dutyer appeared to be sincerely invested in helping him, he even invited himself to be part of the expedition! So he kept talking and drinking with him, and the more Degtyarev drank the better he felt about all this. By the end of their chat, Degtyarev felt ready to face off Pripyat's dangers by himself if necessary. But Zulu was right, it was a much better idea to assemble a team. It would be fun having companions for once!

It was dark outside when Degtyarev emerged from the tower. Where had the sunlight gone? It wasn't that late when he went to find Zulu. After fumbling with his PDA for a while, and dropping it once to the floor, he realised he'd been on the tower for almost two hours. Huh. Strangely enough, he felt fine now, not drunk at all. Well, barely drunk, just tipsy, right? He was even still capable of walking in a straight line! More or less. He went towards Yanov station, swaying a bit as he walked. Inside he saw Vano and Strider together on one of the tables. Great, just the persons he was looking for.

"My friends!" He pushed himself between the two stalkers, putting his arms around their shoulders. "I have a prosp– proposition for you."

"What proposition? Is it something indecent?" The ever nosy Uncle Yar butted in the conversation with an impish smile.

"Business proposition," Degtyarev clarified. He may have slurred the words a bit.

"Are you alright? You sound... different than usual." Strider asked him.

"M'fine, top notch condition," he answered. "Talking with that guy Zulu is something else, you know? I think I like him."

"Ah, that explains much." Vano laughed. "It's good to see you're still capable of talking coherently."

"I'm putting together a team to go to Pripyat. Wanna join me?"

"Yes, I'll go with you." Strider didn't hesitate to answer. "I want to know what happened to me and the squad, I hope to find some answers in Pripyat. I don't think the commander will object."

"Awesome!" Degtyarev's grin was dazzling. He turned to face the other stalker "What to do you say, Vano? Will you join us?"

"You helped me, friend, of course I'll help you." The warmness of his answer made Degtyarev's smile get bigger.

"Guys you're the bestest!" For some reason that made Uncle Yar chuckle. Oh, right, Degtyarev completely forgot about him. "What about you, wanna join the team?"

"Eh, I'll pass, I'm getting too old for that kind of thing. You guys can have all the fun." With that, the Freedomer went away to talk with a stalker that was signalling him to come over.

It didn't matter, Degtyarev would eventually find someone else to join the expedition. And the most important part was that both Vano and Strider had agreed to come with him. He had such great friends, they didn't doubt to accompany him to Pripyat despite the dangers they might face.

"We should toast to our success!" Perhaps Zulu's obsession rubbed off on him, but this truly was something worth celebrating.

"I think you might have toasted enough for today, man." Vano tried to dissuade him.

He was right, yeah, but still Degtyarev wanted to do it. He toasted to so much meaningless shit today, not having a toast for his friends seemed wrong now. So with a slurred _"I'll be back in a moment,"_ Degtyarev went to buy a bottle of booze from Hawaiian. He returned shortly after with a bottle of vodka and three dented metal cups.

"A shot to our success!" Degtyarev said while pouring the drink in the cups, and also spilling some on the table. Okay, so maybe his coordination was a little off, but it was nothing to worry about.

They all downed their shots with a shout of _"Budmo!"_ and then Degtyarev refilled everyone's cup, this time without spilling so much on the table.

"When are we leaving for Pripyat?" Strider asked him, while swishing the liquid in his refilled cup.

"As soon as I... I... crap, I forgot what I was going to tell you." Degtyarev confessed with a laugh.

"Don't worry, I'm sure it will come back to you in the morning." Vano told him with a knowing smile and a clap to his shoulder.

"Doesn't matter, I'm sure it wasn't important. Not like you, guys."

"We are important to you?" Strider asked him, like he couldn't wrap his mind around the fact. Even Vano seemed a bit surprised to hear so. No, that would not do.

"Of course you are," he declared loudly. Then Degtyarev felt the compelling need to hug the ex-Monolithian, and so he did.

Strider was stiff as a plank at first, but soon he relaxed a bit. It was so nice, Degtyarev didn't want to let go. However, he didn't want to make Vano feel left out, of course. He let go of Strider and leant into Vano, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

"You beard tickles," he complained, yet he was nuzzling it with his nose. "How can something so soft tickle so much?"

Vano tried to laugh away his blush, but it wasn't working. In fact he was getting redder and redder as Degtyarev continued to nuzzle him. It didn't help that by now they had started to garner the attention of everyone around them. Uncle Yar even gave him a thumbs up, and Degtyarev raised his cup to him before drinking it up like it was water.

After that, Degtyarev's recollection of the events got a little fuzzy. He may or may have not bragged about finding the Oasis and its legendary artifact, made a bet with a loner to see who found a Compass first, and then mixed some drinks. Energy drink with vodka, to be precise, alleging it would help him sober up. Needless to say, it did not work. Nevertheless, the resulting beverage wasn't half bad, or so his friends said, and the remaining vodka disappeared rather quickly. He didn't remember much of what happened after that.

Actually, the next thing he remembered was Vano and Strider helping him down the stairs to the basement. Someone (he wasn't sure who) slurred something about sleeping it off. That actually sounded good to Degtyarev, he was tired. When they arrived in front of the mattress, he let himself fall on it, taking down with him both stalkers. He was crushing Strider's arm, hard, and at the same time he was partially draped over Vano. Degtyarev fell asleep instantly, still pining both of his friends against the mattress.

When he awoke some time later, the very first thing Degtyarev noticed was the absence of a headache. Oh, he wasn't hung-over yet, good. He also noticed how uncommonly comfortable and warm he was, so unlike any other time he slept since arriving to the Zone. And his pillow was breathing. Did that mean he was still drunk? Probably.

He opened his eyes and saw he was sandwiched between his friends. He was snuggled against Vano, while Strider was cuddling him from behind, one of his arms still trapped beneath Degtyarev and the other hand on Degtyarev's shoulder. He was shaking him lightly.

"Could you move? I can't feel my arm," Strider asked in a whisper. Degtyarev tried to get up and let him free, and in the process he accidentally headbutted Vano in the chest, effectively waking him up.

After a round of apologies, they settled back as they were, with Strider using his back as a pillow. But without Degtyarev crushing anyone's arm. He was alright with this, he was feeling drowsy again and this was a very comfortable sleeping arrangement. He threw his arm over Vano's waist, preventing the loner from getting away.

"Degtyarev? What –?" Vano sounded confused.

"Shh, wanna sleep." Degytarev commanded him. Also, he may have kissed his neck. In his defense, he was intoxicated and half asleep. And Vano didn't seem to mind, although he was also drunk. Not as much as Degtyarev, but still drunk.

The situation had the potential to be really awkward in the morning. He realised there would be some ribald jokes thrown their way, that was inescapable. However, that was something to deal with in the future. Like his future hangover induced headache. Right now, Degtyarev had no regrets about his current situation. His last thought before falling asleep was " _I'm totally leaving this out of any future report._ "


	8. A Friendly Visit (Scar x Strelok)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I did end up writing a sequel for "The Long Road", and what was supposed to be a short story spiralled out of control. I suggest you read the other story if you haven't, not because I want to self promote my material, but because this one kinda picks up shortly after where the other one left.

The weather was always unpleasant in the Great Swamp. There was a permanent dampness in the air, and fog always covered patches of both land and water. Even when the sun shone the light appeared to be weak and lacklustre. None of this bothered Doc much, he was used to it. The only thing that irritated him were the mosquitoes, but thankfully those only appeared in summer. All things considered, living in the swamps was a pretty peaceful life.

However, there had been an unusual amount of activity around here lately. The bandits were on the move again and there had been several firefights that echoed along the marsh. Perhaps they were fighting among themselves again, it would not be the first time. Of course, none of them knew Doc also lived in the swamp, he preferred the peace anonymity granted. Only a few stalkers knew the exact place where he lived, and most of them were dead. Perhaps all of them had died by now, he wasn't sure. It was possible Strelok managed to survive, but Doc wouldn't get his hopes up, he knew it was a remote possibility.

"I guess it's just you and me now." Doc patted the head of his remaining friend. He always liked dogs, and while most people would not consider a pseudo-dog to be pet material, to Doc he would always be that little puppy he rescued from a bloodsucker.

A dark formation of clouds was gathering in the sky, but the day remained calm for now. Still, it would be better to turn around and head back home before the storm began. He hadn't found any wild fleshes or boars today, and while his stores of canned food would last for another month at least, fresh meat was always nice.

"Let's go back home, Druzhok." The pseudo-dog regarded him with its yellow eyes and barked happily. "Yes, I'll get you some dinner."

Following Druzhok was the quickest way to find the right path in the swamp. The pseudo-dog knew how to get back home and had a sixth sense that allowed him to avoid anomalies. It was always interesting to watch the mutant find new paths between the reeds.

Their current path led them close to the old village. Doc was careful to make as little noise as possible around the village ruins, since it was a base of bandits. Or were they renegades? It was difficult to tell the difference, as far as he knew they were the same. Such a nasty lot, all of them. And of course, his PDA had to start beeping like crazy just in that moment. Christ on a crutch, that electronic device had the worse timing!

Doc scurried away, hidden between the bushes and praying that nobody had heard the insistent beeping of his PDA. Thankfully, no one seemed to be following him. The blasted thing continued beeping all the time, it was certainly alarming. What could have happened that warranted such an amount of messages circulating around? The last time his device went crazy like this was after the Big Emission.

Once he was home, Doc took out the PDA from his pocket and went to check the messages with certain apprehension. He started reading them and stared at the screen incredulously. All this commotion for some gossip?! Unbelievable. Was it really that important that a loner and a merc had been making out? Stalkers these days, they had some strange idea of... Wait. The loner was Marked One? That was how Strelok was named during his time with amnesia. Strelok was alive! Doc smiled happily, that was wonderful news. And then he put all the pieces together. Wait a minute; Strelok had a fling with a mercenary? How in the world did that happen?

Last time he'd seen Strelok, he still called himself Marked One and was about to embark in a trip to Pripyat to find the truth behind the Wish Granter. When had he found time to... No, this made no sense. To make matters worse, the description of said mercenary was eerily reminiscent of that one merc who gave Strelok's group so many problems. It was not possible, right? It must be another person, or another mercenary.

With a sigh, Doc decided to not give further thought to this silly gossip. Pondering about the possibilities made his head hurt. Besides, he had urgent matters to attend, like feeding Druzhok. The pseudo-dog had been whining at his feet for quite some time now, demanding the food he had been promised.

#

"I don't understand why you want to go to Cordon," Strelok said exasperated.

"Because I don't think we have any other option." Scar's patience was starting to run thin, and it showed. "I would prefer to not die in a suicidal charge when there are other choices."

Alright, he got him there. Their current road was blocked. Worse, it was being patrolled by the military. Strelok had no idea when the military claimed such a strong position in Agroprom, but he didn't like it. He decimated their improvised base last time he visited, and now there were even more of them walking around. They even had a helicopter surveying the area!

Loathe as he was to admit it, the mercenary was right. In their current situation, it was much better to go to Cordon than try their luck against the military and their chopper. At least not without an RPG-7. Even if they were further away than this one, there were two well known entry points to the Great Swamp in Cordon.

"Fine, we'll do it your way." Strelok sighed, although he still thought that waiting until it was dark and sneaking past the patrol wasn't such a bad idea.

A detour through Cordon wouldn't delay them much. They would have to go across Garbage first, but it was a pretty straightforward route. Garbage was oddly populated for being a place well known for its bandit attacks. It was very common to find rookies and other stalkers scavenging the trash piles, or making camp for a few hours by the side of the road. It was also fairly easy to find bands of roving bandits, trying to impose a toll to cross into Garbage or simply robbing people in a more direct fashion. Their trek between scrap heaps was thankfully uneventful and soon they were out of there.

An empty army outpost marked the entry into Cordon. It felt weirdly nostalgic, almost like going to your old hometown. Or so he imagined. Strelok did not remember which city was his hometown. Not all his memories came back, he still had some blank spaces in his mind. Not many, but mostly concerning his life before the Zone. And the few things he remembered from then were not worth the effort to think about them.

Walking down this road was so familiar he could do it with his eyes closed. He wouldn't really do so, of course, you could fall right into an anomaly if you weren't careful. The day was nice and peaceful, so different from other areas, like Yantar or Red Forest. No wonder the rookie camp was here, this was indeed the nice and easy part of the Zone. And it could still be as deadly as any other place.

The peace was broken when the sky started to darken ominously and sirens started blaring in warning. Someone had set a really nice alarm system, potent enough to reach all corners of the Cordon. Strelok and Scar looked at each other and broke running towards the nearest building, which turned out to be the old farm. Luckily, it was a loner camp and not inhabited by bandits. That would have complicated things. A dozen of stalkers were huddled inside, listening as the psi energy built up outside.

"Fuck, these things didn't use to happen so often." Scar complained.

"You sound like a grumpy old man," Strelok told him. But Scar was right.

The Zone was indeed more unstable now than it was months before. If they were still around, would _Clear Sky_ have blamed Strelok for this? He suspected the answer was yes. The worst part was it might actually be his fault, because... His train of thought was interrupted when he caught part of some whispered comments from the loners.

" _Do you think it's them? They sort of fit the description."_

" _Probably. How many stalkers do you know that travel alone with a merc?"_

Oh fuck, really? Strelok hoped something would happen soon, so people would stop talking about them. He would even settle for another bout of endless Duty vs. Freedom rhetoric, as tedious as it was. Scar didn't appear to have heard the gossiping rookies, or so he thought until the mercenary got closer and put his arm around Strelok's shoulders. The whispers spread like wildfire, and Strelok shoved him away.

Waiting for the emission to end was always a tense affair. It didn't matter if it was your first or you fiftieth. There was something deeply unsettling in seeing how the daylight quickly died out and then a flare of red light illuminated everything like an explosion. Hopefully, after this, there wouldn't be another blowout for a few days at the very least.

Once the emission ended Strelok and Scar continued on, followed out of the farm by the furious whispering of the rookies when the merc tried grabbing Strelok's hand. The key word was tried, of course. The asshole was just doing it to mess with the rookies' minds. Most probably.

They followed the train tracks up to a small path that disappeared between the thick bushes. This was it, one of the most well known paths to the marshes. Little by little the trees became sparser along the way as they got further into the road, the grass got taller and the fog made its appearance not long after that. A small smattering of decrepit buildings, cordoned by a pitiful wooden fence full of gaps, marked their arrival to the northern farm.

This place used to be a bandit camp, a nasty surprise for the unwary traveller who just arrived to the fog covered swamps. However, these bandits wouldn't bother anyone ever again. They were all dead, gruesomely so, a mess of congealed blood and deep gouges. Some of them barely looked like a human anymore. Fuck, that didn't bode well.

"Wild dogs or pseudo-dogs?" Strelok asked in a whisper to Scar, who was looking around like he feared something would come out of one of the houses at any moment.

"Or worse," Scar answered in an equally low voice.

Whatever had killed them couldn't be very far. And that was definitely not good. The mist was like a blurry veil over their surroundings, making it difficult to see far away. They both readied their weapons and listened intently, trying to pick up any suspicious noise. But the only thing that could be heard was the slightly distorted croaking of the swamp frogs. It was only logical to think the mutant that killed those bandits had either gone away, or was indeed hidden in one of the houses.

This place was not safe. It could even be a bloodsucker nest. Fuck this. The sensible thing was to discreetly go away before they attracted the wrath of whatever mutant was around. So they hastily left the ruins behind, making sure nothing was following them. The muddy paths along the Great Swamp were difficult to notice sometimes, and it was easy to get lost when the fog got thick. So they chose the clearest path possible and hoped for the best.

Eventually they found another abandoned building. The place was empty, except for the rusted vehicles lined up on the car park. There was a blackened circle full of ashes in one of the buildings, but it was impossible to tell how recent the campfire was. Everything was damp because of the ever present sticky fog, it filtered even inside the building. Although that was kind of expected when there were great chunks of roof missing, or when you could get inside the building through a man-sized hole in the wall instead of using the entrance door.

This barn, or whatever it was, had clearly seen better days, but there were signs that it had been occupied until not so long ago. Apart from the campfire, there were a handful of thin mattresses scattered around. Not to mention the walkway made of wooden planks that went all the way across the room, a clear effort to keep things out of the mud in the ground. They sat on some big crates piled up in a corner, which groaned alarmingly under their weight but ultimately resisted without collapsing.

"Catch," Scar tossed him a can of tourist's delight and Strelok caught it before it hit him in the head.

"I can feed myself, you know." He commented as he opened the can of food.

"Yeah, but you always pick bread." Strelok had been rummaging in his backpack for bread, indeed. He tore the loaf in two and threw half of it to Scar in mock irritation. The mercenary grabbed it mid air.

"So where are you actually going? The swamp is pretty big..." Scar wasn't very subtle in his attempt to fish for information. That was alright, he kinda liked his total failure at subtetly.

"It's complicated," Strelok sighed, evading the question. Scar's non-committal grunt told him the mercenary was disappointed by that answer. Damn, that shouldn't make him feel bad.

"I'm visiting someone who values his privacy, so I can't really tell you." Strelok explained between mouthfuls of bread and canned meat. Scar nodded, and that tiny gesture of understanding made Strelok feel slightly better. "Where are you going?"

"I don't exactly know," Scar confessed, "but I have an approximated idea."

"You don't know?" Strelok found that hard to believe. How could he not know the location of a base where he'd been before?

"Look, _Clear Sky_ was very secretive about their base, the _blindfolding people_ kind of secretive," Scar sounded irritated by that. Strelok found the whole situation amusing. "I just know it's somewhere on the southern fringes of the swamp."

"You could have tracked someone's PDA signal and then you would know where the base was." It was a very basic trick, even rookies knew that one.

Scar said something about not knowing how to do it as he dug into his can of food. Strelok snorted because, really, he was so easily surpassed by technology, just like an old man. Although Scar wasn't that old, was he? It was difficult for Strelok to guess his age. He supposed the mercenary was, at top, about ten years older than him.

The sunlight died out quickly, smothered by the fog and the late hour, and by the time they finished eating it was nearly impossible to see anything without turning on the flashlights. They debated about lighting a fire or not, and in the end decided to not. The firelight could give away their position easily. So to keep the chill at bay they wrapped themselves in their sleeping bags and set to sleep. It wasn't necessary to keep watch, years of living in the Zone made Strelok a very light sleeper. If anyone, human or mutant, tried to get in the building, he would hear it long before it was inside.

#

The Great Swamp had nothing great about it. Scar detested its heavy smell, the perpetual mist and the tall reeds and grass covering everything. To make things worse, it had been raining since they woke up at dawn. It was just a light drizzle, but after a while it got you as drenched as any other kind of rain.

Truly, the highlight of the day had already happened, when upon waking up he noticed Strelok had rolled closer to him during the night, and the stalker was now pressed against him. It felt nice, even through the layers of the sleeping bags. It would be great to forget about the dreadful swamp out there and stay like this all morning. But alas, it wasn't meant to happen. After waking up, and expertly ignoring the fact he'd been cuddled up to him, Strelok wanted to get going. Swallowing his disappointment, Scar agreed with him.

Surprisingly, the main road was inaccessible. The bridge was barred by an overturned truck and a couple of abandoned jeeps, so they had to search for another path. And soon Scar rediscovered the nightmare it was to navigate the small paths criss-crossing the Swamp.

The water in the Great Swamp was a murky, irradiated soup with pieces of debris sticking out, and the bones of mutants and careless stalkers resting below the surface. Getting into it was a terrible idea, and that without counting the possibility of getting sucked into an anomaly. Because yes, anomalies did appear underwater too. There were a handful of wooden bridges interconnecting different areas of the swamp, and a lot of shabby walkways hastily put together by stalkers who wanted more crossing points. Finding them was easy; navigating the maze of walkways and dirt paths hidden between the tall reeds was harder. It was a common occurrence to go in circles for a while until you noticed your mistake. And that was exactly what happened to them. It didn't help that the fog never truly went away, it was still there, dulling their surroundings. Some trees' silhouette were visible in the distance, but no matter in what direction they went, everything always seemed to be in the same place.

"Are you sure we're going in the right direction?" He asked to the stalker. Scar was sure he'd seen this same piece of rubble sticking out of the water several times before.

"I'd say yes, but so we thought the last time." Strelok sighed in defeat. He pointed at a certain walkway to their left. "The only way we haven't tried yet is that one, and well..."

"Yeah, I get it." As if the faint distortion in the air wasn't proof enough of an anomaly's presence, the water around the walkway formed a curiously rounded hill, the planks also bent over the mound of water.

"Do you think –" Strelok abruptly stopped talking. Scar had heard something too.

A horrifying humanoid creature appeared out of thin air, running in front of them, and then disappeared again. It had an unhealthy greenish colour and was covered with patches of moss. With its unhealthy colouring and mottled skin, it looked like a corpse that had been rotting on the irradiated waters. That illusion of being weirdly human was completely broken by its lambent eyes and the tentacles around its horrifying mouth. It looked different than any other bloodsucker he'd seen, but that was definitely some kind of bloodsucker.

Shit, if there was something capable of making any situation a thousand times worse, it was this. It was nearly impossible to shoot something that you could not see and moved unnaturally fast. Strelok started running in the opposite direction and Scar followed suit. Behind them, the reeds parted to let something invisible pass through, something that was chasing them.

The otherwise undetectable creature became visible again and jumped at Scar, its claws reaching for him. He evaded the mutant's attack, but he stumbled and fell to the ground. The mutant towered over him and opened its mouth tentacles, revealing uneven rows of pointed teeth. Strelok whirled around and shot at the mossy creature with his shotgun, but the mutant shrugged it off and became invisible before stalking away.

"Thanks," Scar was very appreciative of Strelok's fast reflexes, he didn't fancy being a bloodsucker's snack.

It would be very naive to think the creature had really gone away. No, it would be lurking nearby, ready to jump at them when they least expected it. They marched on, hyper-vigilant and startled by any sound. Something jumped in the water and they both swivelled towards the sound, weapons in hand. It was a bloated, white thing; probably a frog, or some kind of mutated fish, who knows. The reeds on their left swayed ominously, despite the lack of wind. Scar fired in that direction, but nothing happened. The sensation of being spied never went away.

Be it by dumb luck or divine providence, they eventually arrived to a clearing, with charred remnants of houses in the middle of it. That meant they finally stopped walking in circles across the walkways. And still not another sighting of the ugly son of a bitch, despite the constant feeling of being observed. Distracted as they were, neither of them though about throwing some bolts to check the suspiciously blackened terrain around the houses.

Strelok was the first to step where he shouldn't, and a column of fire rose right before him. He jumped back, smashing himself against Scar's chest, and luckily got away with just a singed boot and a minor burn on the sleeve of his suit. The bloodsucker growled in pain when it stepped on another burner, and then went away. It was strange to see the flames lick up something invisible, it was like the flames were suspended mid air.

The burners certainly acted like a barrier between the mutant and them. The mossy son of a bitch seemed to have banished after nearly getting roasted. Now they could breathe easier. Or so they thought. After leaving the charred clearing and crossing another walkway, they suddenly found themselves face to face with a group of well armed people. All the newcomers wore their hoods up and covered their faces with balaclavas or scarves. They looked like a ragtag bunch of bandits, or worse, renegades. And it was pretty damn impossible to do anything when you had at least half a dozen weapons aimed at you.

"Drop all your weapons and kick them forward." One of the guys ordered them. He was almost identical to any of the other bastards around them, down to the ever present balaclava, which only served to emphasize his bulging, frog like eyes.

With the utmost care, Scar left his Vintar in the muddy ground and threw the Martha as well. By the corner of the eye, he saw Strelok doing the same with his shotgun and the SIG. They didn't ask for any other weapon, so neither Scar nor Strelok volunteered their knives. Even if they would be useless in a gunfight, it was better than nothing.

"Good. Now we're going to take a walk, Butcher will want to ask you some questions."

Two other guys stepped forward and poked at them with their respective rifles to make them follow the frog eyed guy. What choice did they have but to obediently follow? Nevertheless, this did not bode well. Butcher must be these scumbags' boss, and with such a call sign Scar imagined having a chat with him would not be a pleasant experience.

#

As Strelok soon discovered, this was way worse than when Scar tied him back in Limansk. At least Scar never pressed his weapon's muzzle between his shoulder blades every two seconds. Now he felt like he was being guided and prodded like cattle, completely at the mercy of their captors. They looked like bandits or renegades, and for them _asking some questions_ meant beating the shit out of you while they asked the same two questions all the time.

A faint buzz of machinery could be heard in the distance, growing stronger the more they walked. However, they never arrived to the intended destination. An invisible entity leapt out of the reeds around them, pinned one of the renegades to the ground and jumped away with the screaming man. The screaming stopped abruptly soon after that. Of course, this left everyone nervous and screaming at each other, but no one really wanted to go searching for the guy that disappeared. While the renegades argued, the creature leapt back again, pinning another guy to the ground. The fucking moss covered bloodsucker had followed them, but at least now it was attacking their captors. All hell broke loose. The renegades started shooting at the thing, but the guy on the ground was as good as dead. The creature went away with its victim, presumably to feast on the unlucky guy.

But getting rid of the creature was not that easy, as Scar and Strelok already knew. It came back again. And this time it was intent on killing anyone in front of it, probably angry they were shooting at it. Strelok dodged out of the way just in time to avoid being mauled by the creature, instead leaving the path clear for a renegade to get its throat bitten off by the mutant. In the reigning chaos, no one was actually keeping an eye on them. He looked at Scar and the mercenary understood his wordless message, for he nodded once before he started running. They disappeared between the reeds, leaving behind the renegades and the strange bloodsucker. Strelok prayed they wouldn't find another one of these creatures, fighting it armed only with a knife would suck majorly. Actually, encountering any mutant would suck majorly, he didn't want to try his luck against a boar either.

The screams from the renegades and the echo of gunshots followed them. Perhaps it was only the sounds of their fight with the creature, or perhaps they had noticed Scar and Strelok's escape and were following them. He wasn't going to wait and see if they were indeed being chased, so Strelok ran after Scar as best as he could.

However, it was not easy to run when the mud seemed to suck his boots in, trying to trap him. And the vegetation slapped him on the face as it whipped back and forth as they ran. Although going through the shallow pools of water in their way was the worst. He stumbled with a rotten tree branch and fell face first into the water. Ugh, he was so going to need at least a half a bottle of vodka to get rid of all the radiation. After he got up again he continued running for a while, and then he noticed he had no idea where Scar was. To be fair, the tall reeds usually blocked his field of vision completely, but Scar was usually easy enough to notice. And he was nowhere to be seen.

Damn, he'd been right in front of Strelok just before he got his foot stuck in that tree branch! Strelok continued walking forward, hoping he would eventually catch up with Scar. But he saw no one; not Scar, neither the renegades nor another mutant. Eventually, he arrived back to the burnt clearing where they had been captured.

A rustle in the nearby bushes got his attention, and Strelok watched with a sinking feeling in his stomach as the vegetation parted and a pseudo-dog came out. Just great, his luck never ceased to amaze him. The pseudo-dog regarded him with its yellow eyes and then ran towards him, barking like crazy. Before he had time to react, the dog jumped at him and sent him toppling to the ground. However, instead of the expected bite, he felt the dog's tongue happily slobbering over his face.

#

Doc had been enjoying his daily walk when Druzhok suddenly ran away. Surely it would be a flesh, or a boar, nothing to worry about. The pseudo-dog liked to hunt his own food whenever it was possible. Nonetheless, he chased after him.

When he emerged from the reeds into a clearing, the sight that greeted him was unexpected. Druzhok had pushed someone to the ground and now was sitting by the man's side, looking incredibly satisfied with himself. However, it was the stalker that caught Doc's attention

"Strelok? Is that really you?" Doc was could scarcely believe his eyes.

"Doc," Strelok panted as he got up. "I always told you that dog of yours was a menace."

Doc chuckled at that, flooded by memories of all the other times he heard that. It was a nice moment, only slightly tarnished by the ghosts of their missing friends. They should have been here as well, Ghost complaining about how Druzhok always tried to bite his ankles, and Fang bribing the dog with diet sausages. But now wasn't the time for melancholy. He should focus on the important part: against all odds, Strelok wasn't lost to the Wish Granter.

Doc helped him get up. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you I would come to visit if I survived, right?" Strelok cleaned his face with the sleeve of his suit, smudging mud over his cheek. "I always try to keep my promises. But then the renegades ambushed us and took all our stuff."

"Yes, they're like a plague. I think they are at war with someone, fighting over the control of the Swamp." Doc explained, and then he registered what Strelok said. "Our stuff?"

"I was travelling with someone," he replied, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "But it appears I lost him."

Oh. That was new. Doc remembered the gossip floating around, but he put it out of his mind. He should know better than to put much stock in some ridiculous hearsay.

"Let's go back, I'll prepare some tea and you can tell me about your last trip to the centre of the Zone."

They walked together, following Druzhok through the winding paths of the swamp. The pseudo-dog was always some steps ahead, looking back every now and then to make sure they followed him. Doc's home was hidden somewhere in the middle of the swamp. The moss and lichens growing on the roof helped make it go unnoticed among the surrounding vegetation. Up close, however, it was impossible not to notice how well tended the house was. At least in comparison to the rest of the ruins littering the Great Swamp. And thanks to his dedication, the inside could almost be called cozy.

Strelok plopped down on the worn couch, while he put a pot of water on the fire and grabbed two cups and a package of dried leaves. It was a mix of five different tea packages he'd accumulated over time, and it honestly had a peculiar taste. Nevertheless, stalkers were not overly picky about what they ate or drank, and if the taste was truly horrible, well, you could always add some vodka to improve it.

"You said you were travelling with someone?" Doc asked while they waited for the water to boil, or at least to be hot enough.

"Scar, a merc. We met in Limansk" Strelok said.

Doc wasn't sure what he found more unbelievable, the fact Strelok teamed up with a mercenary, or the fact they had been in Limansk. The old secret city was supposedly inaccessible.

"Sounds like quite the tale." He sat on the other end of the couch and poured a handful of dried leaves in the cups. Druzhok settled at his feet, as he always did, crushing Doc's achy bones with his considerable weight.

Then Strelok launched into a retelling of his travels since the last time they met in Strelok's old hideout, on the Agroprom Underground. He didn't stop talking, not even when Doc retrieved the pot of boiling water and filled their cups. When he finished speaking, Strelok finally took a gulp from his now cold tea and grimaced. Doc didn't want to break the contemplative silence, but he had the distinct impression Strelok had omitted certain details from his otherwise long tale. That was fine, really. It was just that Doc was now almost sure this mercenary was indeed the same one who caused Strelok's group so much grief. And there was no nice way to broach the issue.

"Strelok, do you think this new friend of yours could, perhaps, be the same merc who–"

"Yes, he is." Wasn't this the same man who caused Fang's death? Doc had a million question in his mind, yet most of them could be boiled down to _"What the actual fuck, Strelok."_

"You need to find better friends, son." Doc sighed. The stubborn set of Strelok's mouth told him he would not appreciate further commentary into this issue.

"Anyway, those renegade have our weapons and backpacks, and I want my stuff back." Strelok swiftly changed the direction of the conversation. "Doc, do you still have the old AKM I left you?"

"Yes, as well as an old P99 and some ammo." Judging by Strelok's fierce grin, Doc's answer was exactly what he wanted to hear.

#

He lost Strelok. Fuck, he could have sworn the stalker was right behind him not that long ago. But no matter where he looked, there was no one around. Maybe... maybe a stray bullet hit Strelok in the back, and now he was lying in a pool of his own blood. The idea hit him like a punch to the gut. No, he refused to entertain this idea. Scar decided to track Strelok's PDA, if he could remember how to do it, and find him. But then he discovered the pocket where he always put his own PDA was empty. Shit. It could be literally anywhere.

Combing down the area, searching for his PDA and Strelok –mostly looking for Strelok, if he was being honest– took a lot of time. And no luck so far. But that was good news, right? It meant the stalker was still alive somewhere on this damp hell. And finding his PDA among the mud and the thick vegetation was impossible, so in the end he gave up.

A tall, rusted tower could be seen in the distance, despite the milky haze of the fog. It was a landmark as good as any. He walked down a narrow track between the reeds, created by the passing of mutants and the occasional stalker. When he arrived closer to the tower, he glimpsed a smattering of dilapidated roofs further away. That would be the old fishing hamlet, most probably. There would be a better view of the whole area from the top of the tower.

It wasn't until he emerged out of the narrow trail, and went into the clearing around the tower, that he noticed the group of three stalkers going down the tower's stairs. They all wore the same white and blue camo suit, and seemed as surprised to see him as Scar was to find them. Wasn't the faction supposedly dissolved?

"Are you lost?" One of the stalkers asked him, keeping his weapon in a loose hold. Then recognition slowly dawned on his eyes. "Fuck, not you again merc!"

"Trodnik?" It was impossible to not remember the guide Lebedev assigned to take him in and out of the base. He'd always been kind of a sour asshole.

"You survived, like a cockroach," the stalker spat out. "While good men like Lebedev, Suslov and the rest never came back from that crazy chase of yours."

"It was not my crazy chase. For me it was just another job." If Trodnik had been simmering with anger, Scar was like a cold wall of indifference. The other two stalkers, who Scar didn't recognize, stared at them, unsure of what was going on.

"The boss will decide what to do with you." Trodnik eventually declared. His eyes said he would have preferred to kick him in the head. "Follow me."

The angry stalker led the way, followed by Scar, and the rest of the squad behind them. There were no threats and no weapons drawn, but it was clear they were keeping an eye on his every movement. Trodnik led them along a path that went into the edge of the swamp territory, until they arrived to a fence guarded by a lone stalker. The guide greeted him with a nod and the guard opened the gate. Stepping into the base was like stepping into the past. Except in the past, this place was bustling with activity, and now he only saw a pitifully small group of stalkers. The faction may have not dissolved, but it certainly was nearly extinct.

"Hurry up, I don't have all day."

The two new faces accompanying them went towards a shed in the far end of the camp, while Trodnik led him to Lebedev's old office. The room was illuminated by a lone light bulb that flickered irregularly, just as he remembered. Some things never changed, it seemed. There was a man sitting behind the desk, looking at some documents and muttering to himself. When he lifted his head up, Scar was met with yet another familiar face. Cold was the new leader? They surely were short staffed, the man used to be the bartender. A decent guy, but not exactly who he imagined being the boss. The grumpy guide was dismissed with a gesture from Cold, so he went to guard the entrance. What a mistrustful bastard.

"Never thought I'd see you again merc." Cold appeared amused, not angry. A much welcomed change.

"I never thought I'd see you out of your bar." Scar sat on the wobbly chair in front of the desk.

"Didn't leave my old post voluntarily. But believe it or not, now I'm the most veteran _Clear Sky_ member." Cold laughed, but it rang hollow, and his expression was worried. The ex-bartender then reclined on his own chair and adopted the same expression he wore in the past when he haggled with people over the loot they tried to sell him. "I remember you were quite proficient at killing renegades, merc. Would you be up for it once more?"

"Usually I'm paid for my work." Scar reminded him.

"I cannot pay you for your old mission." He said nothing. If Cold believed he was seeking payment for the CNPP fiasco, he wouldn't disabuse him of that notion.

Scar's continued silence was starting to unnerve Cold, who fidgeted in his chair. "Look, I cannot pay you for a mission that wiped out most of our ranks, even if you kept your end of the bargain. But I could pay you for helping us out in cleaning a renegade base."

"I don't think you can afford it." The _Clear Sky_ leader let out a deflated sigh.

Things were not going well for them, anyone with half a brain could tell. Besides, Scar had already been promised a juicy payment, and all he had to do was retrieve some information.

"How about an exchange?" Scar offered him.

"What kind of exchange?" Cold put his elbows on the table and leant forward.

"You see, I was robbed by the renegades, so vengeance sounds really good to me. I just need a weapon with enough ammo." Cold was nodding along, it was a sensible request. Time to go for the kill. "And as compensation for my services I only ask for a copy of all your scientific data."

The stunned silence that followed his proposal stretched way too long. Eventually, Cold regained his bearings.

"Why would a merc want scientific data about the Zone?" One needn't be very observant to notice how wary the man was.

"Professor Sakharov thought it lost and wanted to save the data from oblivion if possible." Yes, that did the trick of appeasing Cold. Studying and understanding the Zone, as well as collaborating with the scientists, were the original goals of _Clear Sky_. And Professor's Sakharov good reputation was legendary.

"As long as you remember to mention to him how _Clear Sky_ is always willing to cooperate with the ecologists, then I agree." Smart of him. And most important, Scar would get his payment and the opportunity to kill the bastard that took his Vintar.

Everyone was happy with the outcome, except Trodnik, who let out a huff of displeasure from his spot on the door, but Scar didn't give a damn about his opinion. It was decided then, Scar would help a couple of _Clear Sky_ stalkers clear out the renegade base at the Pumping Station. They gave him a Kora-919, which was honestly in a better condition than he had expected. And even better, Trodnik would not be in the group accompanying him. Cold detected their mutual dislike and wisely decided to keep them as far away from each other as possible.

The guys that were to accompany him were new recruits, an enthusiastic rookie called Senya Spaghetti, and a veteran ex-loner by the name of Moss. Moss claimed to know the swamps like the back of his hand, which was good, because without his PDA map Scar had no idea of where to go. Well, it was time to go renegade hunting. Just like in the old days. Moss lived up to his promise and led them straight to the Pumping Station, the familiar rumble of old machinery getting louder and louder the closer they got. The problems began when they bumped into a pair of boars. The mutants were angry at their presence, and they only got angrier when the rookie shot at them with his sawn-off shotgun. The boar charged against the rookie and threw him flat on his back. Killing the mutants was a waste of bullets, so Scar was more than happy to let the rookie and Moss deal with the issue. After all, he was hired to kill renegades, not mutants.

Unfortunately, the sound of their shots was loud enough to give away their position. Another two shots were heard, coming from their left, and then Moss stumbled back before falling to the ground. The man was bleeding like a stuck pig and had a sizeable hole on his stomach.

A renegade came out of the reeds, still reloading his hunting rifle. The rookie was closest to the renegade and fired his own shotgun. Those were good reflexes, maybe he could become a half decent stalker if he survived. Scar finished off the screaming renegade while the terrified rookie reloaded his weapon. The man fell to the mud, half of his face blown off by the shot.

Meanwhile, Moss had stopped convulsing and moving, although he was still alive, barely so. Judging by the way he kept bleeding, he wouldn't last much. Senya was freaking out, trying to apply pressure to the massive wound and achieving nothing. The merciful thing would be to put Moss out of his misery. Scar pointed at him with his gun, but then Moss stopped breathing. There was literally nothing they could do for him now.

The Pumping Station was so close Scar could hear the renegades shouting at each other from here, despite the buzz of the machinery. They had undoubtedly heard the shots and were getting ready for an offensive. Staying here like sitting ducks was the worst possible idea, better to attack while they still weren't completely ready. Besides, a moving target was more difficult to hit.

"Alright, we're going in now. Keep after me until we arrive to the Pumping Station and you might have a chance to stay alive." He said to the remaining stalker.

Without giving him time to answer, Scar got going. He didn't bother to check if the rookie was following him or not. It wouldn't be the first time he wiped out a camp by himself, and being honest, he wasn't counting on anyone's help.

The renegades were expecting them. In fact, there was one patrolling one the closest access walkway. Even at this distance, Scar saw him perfectly well. Missing his Vintar more than ever, he risked shooting at the unsuspecting bastard. A couple of shots, just to be sure. The bullets hit him, one on the thigh and the other on the stomach, and now the man was bleeding and screeching like a banshee. Another bullet, this time on the chest, silenced him permanently.

Scar ran to the dead guy. He'd been carrying an AK, and Scar wanted it. Having more than one weapon was always a good idea, especially during an assault. But he was careless and didn't check if there was anyone else coming. Another renegade came to investigate the death of his comrade and caught Scar out of cover, running across the wooden plank. Fuck.

Scar knew he wouldn't be fast enough to dive out of the way before he was shot. A loud shot rang out, and the renegade fell down like a ragdoll. He was dead before he touched the ground. Scar wasn't going to question his luck, really, but he didn't understand what just happened. Or at least he didn't get it until he saw him, wielding a Dragunov almost as tall as him, looking like the angel of death. Maybe he hadn't been counting on anyone's help, but Strelok's presence was reassuring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second part is coming soon. I hope :)


	9. A Friendly Visit - part 2 (Scar x Strelok)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said the update would be soon, so here it is (no, it's not an April's Fools joke).

The guns Doc had were still in good condition. Strelok had feared the dampness of the place would have affected them somehow. Armed again, he was ready to brave the swamps once more. Checking the map on his PDA, he deduced the place where the renegades had tried to take them to was the Pumping Station. While he was at it, Strelok decided to track Scar's PDA. He was curious to see where the mercenary was. Not worried, just curious, alright?

The marker pointed to a location close to the Pumping Station, right in the middle of the watery fields. Had the merc had the same idea as Strelok? But he wasn't armed, as far as he knew. And the marker wasn't moving, not even one inch. Doc came back with the ammo for the P99, and Strelok shut down the PDA, feeling suddenly nervous.

"I would tell you to be careful, but I know you well enough." Doc handed him some bandages, clearly foreseeing trouble in his future.

"You wound me, Doc." He carelessly shoved the bandages and the PDA on his pocket.

"One day you'll end up badly, Strelok." Doc sighed the familiar warning. Last time he heard it was before everything went to hell. He hoped this time things wouldn't go south like that.

With such ominous farewell, and another reminder from Doc to be careful, Strelok left Doc's home. He was barely out of the door when he had to check the map, since he had no idea in which direction he should go. And then he felt the need to check on Scar's location again. The marker still pointed the same place. Why hadn't he moved in all this time? Was he wounded? Or worse. Ugh, he would have to check it out personally. He _needed_ to know.

The trip was mostly uneventful, except for a clash with a small herd of fleshes. He took down one of them and critically wounded another before the rest ran away in fear. Soon he arrived to the vast extensions of water, surrounded by a thick mass of half-rotten grass and dried reeds. The Pumping Station wasn't very far from here. Supposedly, they had run through here when fleeing from the renegades, but all Strelok remembered were the reeds smacking him on the face, and how difficult it was to run through mud and water.

According to his PDA, Scar wasn't very far. Strelok got closer and closer to the marked location, and still no sign of the merc's presence. A ball of anxiety was lodged on his stomach. The incessant buzz of the machinery only served to irritate him further.

However, he got to the position marked on the map and still no trace of Scar. What the hell? Strelok looked around confused, trying to get a glimpse of anything out of place in this sea of vegetation. Nothing. That was weird. Was his PDA broken? These things were supposed to be durable and sturdy, but nothing was infallible. Just as he decided to leave, he stepped on something hard and flat. His weight had pushed it deep against the silt, and Strelok had to dig the item out of the mud. It was a PDA with the screen slightly cracked.

A shot rang out and Strelok dived to the ground in an instinctive move, trying to find cover. The renegades at the Pumping Station were shooting at someone, but luckily that someone wasn't him. Strelok waited a few more seconds, but he hadn't been spotted. Judging by the cacophony loud enough to be heard over the buzz of the machinery motor, they were pretty busy. It was unlikely they would notice him.

Feeling more or less sure no one would notice him, he pocketed the dirty PDA and approached the Pumping Station. The platform looked empty from this side. All the renegades were on the other two walkways, shooting like their lives depended on it. To be fair, their lives probably depended on it, even if Strelok wasn't seeing anyone directly attacking them. Well, that was about to change. Strelok used the distraction to sneak up behind a lone renegade, who didn't notice his presence until it was too late. Not even a miracle could have saved him from two bullets to the head shot at point blank range. And no one noticed it, thanks to the constant noise of the machinery's motor and the gunshots from the other renegades.

Strelok kicked the corpse aside and noticed he'd been carrying a Dragunov. Nice, he'd always wanted to try one. He took the dead guy's sniper rifle and surveyed the field ahead of him through the scope. He saw a renegade on the closest walkway, aiming his Viper at something Strelok couldn't see. The Dragunov was loud enough to leave his ears ringing, but it was extremely satisfying to fire. The renegade he'd been targeting fell like a fly, revealing a stunned Scar behind him.

Maybe it was the adrenalin high of finally firing a Dragunov, or the shock of seeing Scar, but an effervescent elation spread through him. Grinning like an idiot, Strelok went back to killing renegades. Another two guys had noticed Scar and were coming for him. Strelok shot at one and Scar took down the other. Enjoying his newfound role as a sniper, Strelok covered Scar while he killed a renegade on the opposing end of the platform. A wounded renegade climbed upon the walkway, right behind Scar. Strelok sent him down to the water again, this time permanently. He also saved a young man in white and blue camo from being shot in the back. It was a shame those rifles were too heavy for him to carry around in his backpack, he really liked it. Also, he had run out of bullets. What a shame, indeed.

All the renegades were now dead, but he had the nagging suspicion there should have been more, their numbers seemed too small in comparison of what he remembered from before. Perhaps the mossy bloodsucker had been responsible for that, who knows. The important thing was that the fight was over, and Scar and the other guy converged on his position. Who was the guy in uniform, by the way? He looked young like a rookie, but his attire looked suspiciously like _Clear Sky's_. That could also explain why he was aiming his shotgun at Strelok.

"Put that down, you idiot." Scar said to the young man, accompanied by a nasty glare. "Can't you see he helped us?"

The rookie lowered his shotgun and watched in confusion as Scar raised his arm like he was about to give a one armed hug to Strelok, but in the end he just clapped him on the back. "So good to see you alive."

"Loose something recently?" Strelok produced the dirty and cracked PDA from one of his pockets, ignoring the brief stab of disappointment he felt because hadn't been expecting a hug, of course not.

"How did you find that? Did you track me?" Strelok just offered him a half hearted shrug, not wanting to admit anything. The mercenary's slow smirk was infuriating and he wanted to wipe it out. He would have most probably done something rash if the _Clear Sky_ rookie hadn't stepped into the conversation.

"Did you know each other from before?" He still looked confused, but he didn't look at Strelok with suspicion anymore.

"We were travelling together and got separated." Was all Scar offered.

The guy blinked once and thankfully kept his mouth shut instead of asking more questions. He seemed nice enough, but he was from _Clear Sky_ , Strelok would bet his life on it. And he would prefer it if no one from _Clear Sky_ ever noticed he was the same stalker their leader had wanted to kill, or stop, or whatever they had called it.

After a thorough search of the Pumping Station and all the corpses, their weapons were still missing. And no trace of their backpacks. Strelok hadn't seen Mr. Frog-eyes among the dead either. That could only mean there were more of them in another base.

"I bet the rest of them must be holed up on the Village ruins or the Tuzla outpost." Scar decided after a cursory search of the area map.

"They have a base on the village ruins." Doc had already warned him of that.

"How are you so sure?" The mercenary questioned him.

"I have my sources." Yes, it was unnecessarily pompous and Strelok did it on purpose. Scar found it amusing.

"And that source would be the same mysterious friend you wanted to visit?" Damn Scar for guessing it right on the first try.

"But the boss only wanted to clear the renegades at the Pumping Station," the rookie was bewildered by Scar's decision to go to the Village ruins, possibly afraid he would want to be paid more.

"And so we did. Tell him I'll come back for my payment later," Scar ignored the rookie's complaints about not giving the pistol back, since it apparently was _Clear Sky's_ property, and left the Pumping Station with Strelok.

"Falling in with _Clear Sky_ again?" Strelok said as soon as they were out of earshot from the bewildered rookie.

"More like taking advantage of their situation," Scar clarified. None of them made any other mention to the elephant in the room that was Scar's last mission on _Clear Sky's_ behalf. Better to let the past lie in the past.

The place they were seeking was to the north of the swamp, a good trek away from here. Halfway to their destination they found a group of four of blind dogs, in an area relatively clean of vegetation. The dogs were on the other side of the clearing, and one of them ran towards where they were, barking like mad. The other three followed suit. One second later the first dog was up in the air, like it was flying. Seconds later, it exploded in a rain of bloody pieces of flesh and bone splinters. It wasn't necessary to fire a single bullet against the dogs, the rest scattered away, yapping pitifully after their companion had been made mincemeat. Well, shit. Neither of them had noticed anything out of the ordinary, until the mutant exploded. These things usually created a faint distortion around them, but the most dangerous anomalies were really subtle. Not even throwing a bolt created a strong reaction, just a gust of wind and a brief wheezing sound from the sudden displacement of the air. Throwing bolts and paying attention carefully, they discovered there were only two anomalies there. Thank God it wasn't a big cluster, finding a way around just two anomalies wasn't very difficult.

Eventually they reached a point where the village ruins were visible in the distance. A couple of indistinct figures could be observed as well, but they were too far away to see properly how many renegades there were, or what kind of weapons they carried.

"I would kill for a pair of binoculars." Scar told him, squinting his eyes as he tried to count the number of enemies out in the open.

"I count three, I think." Strelok said, shielding his eyes with his hand from the late afternoon sun.

Those were not bad odds, but surely there would be more renegades hidden somewhere, ready to pour out at the smallest sign of conflict. So they decided to try a stealthy approach for once. Strelok crept across the plains, trying to remember everything Ghost ever taught him about sneaking in an open field.

By some miracle, they arrived to the outer perimeter of the village ruins without being discovered. Hidden behind a broken wall, pieces of a conversation arrived to them.

"... they're bleeding us... attack... the chopper..."

"... no chance... Tuzla outpost."

"Tell that to Butcher."

"... you moron... weapons..."

Well, wasn't this interesting. Completely unaware of their presence the renegades kept chatting, oblivious to their impending end. Strelok readied his AKM and nodded to Scar, who also checked his weapon before nodding back.

#

Gripping the worn gunstock of the looted AK, Scar took a deep breath and dived out from cover.

The renegades were a few meters away, having a smoke, and stared in stunned surprise as Scar and Strelok appeared from behind a wall and pumped them full of lead. Those wouldn't get up again. One of them was the man with the frog like eyes, and Scar felt a certain satisfaction from this. Who was ambushing whom now, bitch?

One guy had been lazily patrolling in the other side of the camp, and he came running at the sound of a firefight. Another three renegades came out from one of the houses, angry as hell and ready to fight. Scar retreated behind the same wall they'd been hidden before, and Strelok hid behind another ruined building. They were flanked by the renegades. Hoping Strelok would take care of the lone guy with the shotgun, he fired against the other three on the left. Being as close to each other as they were, hitting someone was easy enough. One of them went down, and another ran away like a coward. The remaining one took cover behind a wooden shack. On his part, Strelok had indeed taken care of the other guy, snatched his shotgun from him and was now advancing towards the wooden house. The renegade waited a moment before poking his face out, and Scar fired against him without much success. Didn't matter, it kept him distracted while Strelok got closer to him.

A shotgun blast echoed from behind the ruined building, and a few seconds later Strelok emerged with his SIG slung around the shoulder. The lucky bastard had already collected his weapons. No one had been carrying his Vintar, and Scar hoped it was stashed someplace here because sure as hell he wanted it back. Further north, the unmistakeable sound of a helicopter patrolling around could be heard faintly.

"I think there's one still missing." Strelok looked around, trying to see where the missing renegade could be hiding.

"Saw him ran like a coward," Scar was already rifling through the crates piled against one of the collapsed houses.

After an extensive search, they found their backpacks, Scar's Vintar, at least half a dozen different pistols, and a sizeable cache of varied ammo in a metal container in the cement building closest to the tower. They grabbed all the ammo they needed and left the rest. The sound of the helicopter had grown louder, accompanied by gunshots in the distance. So the military were cleaning the so called Tuzla outpost, presumably the last den of the renegades. They weren't doing this out of a particular hatred against bandits and other lowlifes, no; the military would shot at any stalker no matter his faction, except ecologists.

Better to get the hell out of here, before the military came to secure this place as well. But they couldn't bolt out of here yet. The distant sound of the helicopter had grown in intensity until it was almost deafening, and a quick peek from the window confirmed the helicopter was over the village ruins. Going out now would be suicide. So they waited until it turned around and became a progressively small figure in the distance.

Of course that was only the beginning of their troubles. The military had indeed advanced their position in the meantime, and they were close enough to notice Scar and Strelok when they finally got out of the ruined house. Scar only heard the beeping of their PDAs, indicating the approach of multiple persons, and then something was thrown in their direction. A small, rounded object rolled in the ground a few metres ahead of them. Strelok shoved him out of the way with a cry of _"Get down!"_ and he dropped to the ground as fast as he could. The grenade exploded away from them, but the shockwave rattled them to the very bones.

His ears were ringing and his back hurt like he'd slammed against a brick wall, and yet the first thing Scar did was to check on Strelok. He seemed unharmed; good. Getting up was disorienting, but he managed to do it without stumbling, and even helped Strelok up as well. They needed to move, the soldiers were almost upon them.

If getting up had been difficult, running was a real challenge. He still felt somewhat uncoordinated and sluggish, the distorted sounds and ringing in his ears gave everything an air of unreality. But it was oh so real. They ran towards a semi collapsed wooden structure, hoping to hide behind it before the military shot them down or threw another grenade at them. A soldier appeared in front of them in the distance, popping out from between the buildings, pistol in hand. His shot seemed to miss the mark, thank goodness. Scar retaliated but he hadn't noticed the Vintar need to be reloaded first, damn. Strelok took care of it with his SIG, even if the stalker fired somewhat carelessly instead of aiming properly.

Once behind the wooden remnants of the house, Scar started sniping out the approaching soldiers. But there were too many, they would be inevitably overrun in the end. The soldiers had taken up position all over the village ruins, their only option was to turn around and run for their lives. Again. Fuck, he was sick of running up and down the swamp.

Soon it became apparent the military were herding them up north, shooting at their feet whenever they tried to go in another direction. Scar was puzzled by their behaviour until he recalled the military was holding the northern entrance to the Great Swamp. Shit, maybe they even had the chopper still in the air, ready to go after Strelok and him. If this was the case, they were as good as dead. However, if he remembered correctly, first they had to reach the train tracks. Maybe they could turn the tables on the military there, set up an ambush for the soldiers chasing them. He reached behind him and tugged at Strelok's arm in a silent request to speed up, and also to make sure he hadn't lost him this time. The pained gasp he received as answer was not something he expected.

Upon turning around to see what the matter was, Scar was greeted by an awful sight. Strelok held his right arm rigidly to the side, the whole sleeve of his suit darkened with blood. Judging by all the blood, he had been bleeding for a while now.

"Remember that soldier that appeared right in front of us?" Strelok's voice was strained as he tried to keep an air of calmness.

Scar was anything but calm. He honestly thought the soldier had failed the shot, it hadn't even occurred to him to ask Strelok if he was alright.

"Keep going, I'll follow you." Strelok reassured him. His words were difficult to believe when the blood still dripped down his arm. Nonetheless, they had no time to stop, the soldier were still hot on their heels.

They kept going, but at least they were close to their destination. The figure of a train loomed in the horizon. However, first awaited them another anomaly cluster, the distortions they caused in the air easily visible this time. There was no time to take the careful approach. Scar randomly threw some bolts around, ran ahead evading the anomalies as best as he could and hoped for the best. Strelok trailed after him, following in his same footsteps. Worst case scenario, if he stepped into a vortex, then Strelok would know to avoid that exact spot. Miraculously, this careless approach worked, and they left the anomaly field unscathed.

The collection of rusted train cars lay on the tracks, like a toy long ago forgotten. Instead of hopping into the open wagon, Scar tried to open one of the closed ones. It would be a less obvious hideout. Sadly, the years of neglect under the Swamp's damp weather had rendered the door useless. The rusted thing did not budge. Alright, the open wagon would have to suffice. Once inside the light was minimal and the flashlight became necessary. There was a lone crate shoved at the end of the carriage, and Scar made Strelok sit on it. The crate was probably as old as the train, and it did not resist under the strain of the stalker's weight. It collapsed and sent Strelok crashing to the floor. Scar squatted by his side and took off his backpack.

The first thing he noticed was how pale the stalker looked, although it could also be an effect of the unflattering direct light of the flashlight. The arm was a mess of blood. Scar poured water from one of their canteens to cleanse and assess the gunshot wound. A small entry hole and a clear exit wound. He'd seen people survive much worse, seems like Strelok had been lucky. Or as lucky as someone could be while still receiving a gunshot. The wound was kind of unremarkable, despite the bleeding. But if a major artery were hit the bleeding would be almost unstoppable and not this slow trickle, right?

Meanwhile, Strelok had rummaged around his backpack with the other hand, searching for something. When he found it, he handed a military issued medkit to Scar, who wasted no time in ripping it open. Scar shoved one of those clot promoting sponges over the gunshot wound, and then bandaged it over as tight as he dared. That should stop the bleeding.

The loudly voiced commands announced the imminent arrival of the soldiers. And seconds after, a harrowing scream announced that at least one soldier had stepped into an anomaly. Everyone in the Zone had seen it happen at least once, and it was very easy to picture one of the soldiers walking into the distortion wave in the air, instantly becoming a twisted heap that resembled a wrung rag, accompanied by the sickening crunch of bones breaking all over. No more screams followed, so the rest of the soldiers probably kept clear of the anomalies, advancing and coming closer to their hiding spot. Scar prayed they would keep walking, but it was an empty hope.

"Check every wagon!"

The entrance could act as a chokepoint, but only if nobody noticed the open door on the other side of the wagon. And if they threw grenade in here they were done for. And that counting they did not ask for reinforcements; the helicopter's weaponry would get through the thin steel walls like it was butter.

The sound of heavy footsteps came closer and closer. Scar used the scope of his Vintar to spy the movement going on outside. One of the soldiers was coming towards their wagon. He was alone, as far as he could see, but that was about to change. Upon seeing the open wagon, he quickly came to the right conclusion.

"Over here!" He shouted and other five soldiers came running, guns held high and ready to fire.

They were going to open fire against them at any moment now. Scar just hoped the metal walls of the wagon were thick enough to stop bullets, otherwise they virtually had no protection. The soldiers indeed started shooting, yet instead of firing at them, they were shooting in another direction. This was accompanied by cries of _"What the fuck is that?"_ and _"Don't let it come closer!"_

As wonderful as this unexpected reprieve was, Scar didn't understand what was happening. Strelok was equally surprised. A quick peek outside revealed the reason of the soldier's agitation. Something that moved like a monkey was approaching them. It looked too human, almost like an old man, until you noticed his claw like hands or his abnormally elongated neck. Its whole body was oddly out of scale, too thin and long. Whatever this was, it wasn't something Scar had seen before.

While the military were busy freaking out and killing the new mutant, they seized the opportunity to flee. Using the other entrance to jump out of the wagon, they went in the opposite direction, without sparing a single glance behind. With a little luck, the soldiers wouldn't notice in which direction they escaped. And if not, at least they had a head start over them.

The marsh looked all the same to Scar, so he had no idea of how far they had arrived. It seemed like they were in the middle of nowhere. So far, no one seemed to be going after them, although the dying sun and ever present layer of fog in the horizon seriously diminished the visibility. The fleeting sensation of safety was thoroughly smashed by the sound of a helicopter in the distance, getting louder and closer with each passing second.

The flat terrain around them offered no cover. And there was nothing else around as far as they could see. They could also keep running, but sooner or later the chopper would catch up with them. Calling it a desperate situation was not an exaggeration. And it was going to get much worse. What neither of them imagined was the much worse part wouldn't be getting shot by the helicopter as they feared.

The dwindling sunlight gave everything a rusted tint, making the grass look like dried blood. Very fitting, Scar thought, as their end would be bloody if the helicopter detected them. A thunder rumbled in the distance. A nice torrential rain might actually help them, it would reduce the chopper's visibility.

Immersed in his thoughts as he was, Scar didn't notice anything amiss until Strelok made him stop. A pack of dogs was coming towards them, running like crazy. Strelok already had his SIG ready as best as he could, despite the reduced mobility of his right arm, prepared to open fire. Scar switched the Vintar for the pistol. But the dogs weren't coming for them. The mutants arrived at their position, ignoring their shots, and kept running and yapping like the devil itself was after them. No matter how hard they looked, neither Scar nor Strelok could see what scared the mutants like that. The only thing noticeable was the rumble of the helicopter, now dwarfed by the mounting storm. Oddly enough, Scar could have sworn the light was somewhat better now, brighter than before.

"Oh no," Strelok whisper of consternation was the last clue Scar needed to assemble the pieces of evidence.

"It can't be," he said firmly. The Zone was unpredictable, alright, but this was too much. "There was one little more than twenty-four hours ago, it can't be another emission."

As if to mock him, a lightning discharged in that moment, followed by a loud thunder. The sky slowly grew blood red, and more thunder followed after the first one.

"A blowout," Strelok laughed mirthlessly. "If we couldn't hide from a helicopter, what possibility do we have against an emission?"

"C'mon, we must keep going." Scar refused to stand here doing nothing.

"Why? Look around, there's nothing but water and grass for miles." He hated to admit it, but Strelok was right. "I always knew the Zone would eventually take me. It seems the moment has come."

His bitter words rang true for Scar as well. All stalkers knew the Zone could claim them at any moment, fickle mistress it was. But nobody ever thought _today_ was the day it would happen.

Using his uninjured arm, Strelok grabbed Scar by the collar of the suit and dragged him closer. He bent forward willingly and met the stalker halfway in a desperate kiss. The air was charged with psy energy, and the sky bloomed in a flash of lightning. Strelok curled his arm around his neck, and Scar put his hands around the stalker's waist, pushing him as close as it was humanly possible. Scar enjoyed every second of the kiss, yet he would have liked it better if it didn't feel so much like a goodbye. When they broke apart, Strelok's pleased sigh filled him with want. He wanted more time, more of Strelok's kisses, more everything.

The emission was about to be in full force in a few seconds, when all the energy would truly _'blow out'_. An idea suddenly sparked in his mind, along with a half remembered story from long ago about a guy who was knocked out cold during a fight, with an emission building up as they fought, and when he woke up some time later everyone else was dead. It was a wild guess, but it was all he had. The emission was already a death sentence, nothing he did would really worsen their situation.

"I'm sorry," He was almost sure the stalker hadn't heard him over the thundering noise, but Scar had felt the urge to apologize for what he was about to do.

Emboldened with determination, Scar walked behind him and put Strelok on a choke hold. The stalker struggled and tried to dislodge Scar's arm from around his neck. Scar tightened the hold, cutting off the blood supply to the brain. It was risky, and stupid, and it may not even work. But if he was right, and Strelok remained unconscious long enough, or the emission was a short one, then perhaps he would survive.

After a few seconds the stalker went limp, and Scar gently lowered him to the ground. As for him, Scar knew he might or might not die. Professor Kalancha thought he could survive a few blowouts, but he also said the effects of it on his nervous system were slowly killing him. Scar already survived three emissions, maybe he would survive another, but it was a gamble.

A ball of fire exploded on the horizon, a column of dark smoke rising up where the helicopter crashed. The red sky flashed in a blast of light, and the wave of energy swept everything in its wake. It had its own unique kind of terrible beauty. That was his last thought before darkness claimed him, and then Scar knew no more.

#

The return to consciousness was like waking up with a hangover. He was disoriented and confused. Why was he on the ground? He tried to sit up, but he felt dizzy by the sudden movement and had to lie down again. His blurry vision wasn't helping either. Closing his eyes, he stopped trying to make sense of his surroundings. There was a blank spot on his mind, and that was terrifying. He already dealt with amnesia once, he didn't want to lose more pieces of himself. Pain radiated from his right arm up to his shoulder, and he had the sinking feeling he had been shot. Was that why he'd been unconscious? No matter how much he tried, he didn't remember why he was lying on the mud, out in what looked to be a swamp. Yes, he wanted to go to the Great Swamp to visit Doc, but–

It all came back in a rush. He travelled with Scar to the Swamp, and last thing he knew they were hunting down the renegades that ambushed and robbed them. Until the military came along, and then they went on the run, until... Son of a bitch, Scar had tried to strangle him! Why would he do that? The blowout was going to kill them either way. Wait.

He opened his eyes and sat up. He had no idea of how he survived the emission, but he needed to know what happened to Scar. Locating him wasn't difficult, he was lying on the ground a few feet away from Strelok. He looked dead. The nosebleed staining his mouth and chin certainly gave him a ghastly appearance. A wave of cold dread swept over him. Oh God, no, please don't be dead. Strelok crawled up to him and with a shaky hand he grabbed Scar's wrist and tried to find his pulse.

All Strelok could feel was his own pulse beating madly, but maybe it was because he wasn't doing it right. He pressed his fingers against Scar's neck. He wasn't sure, but he thought he felt something. He shook him by the shoulders, gently at first and then more forcefully. The merc did not react.

"Wake up, goddamn it!" He went from aggressively shaking him to slapping his face. "Wake up, you asshole!"

Nothing seemed to work. That wasn't good. But he couldn't be dead, he couldn't. Strelok was almost sure he'd felt his pulse! Should he try CPR? Fuck, he had no idea of what to do.

#

The emission had been as unexpected as it was short. Doc observed the red sky and lightning from the safety of his house, Druzhok fitfully keeping guard by his side and growling. Mutants were not affected by psy discharges like humans were, but it made them jumpy and nervous all the same.

"It's alright, buddy." Druzhok continued growling, although he quietened a bit when Doc put his hand on the dog's head. "This will be over soon."

His thoughts veered to Strelok. The last time he fretted so much about someone was when his nephew joined the military. His fretting was founded that time, as soon they received notice of his death. That was years ago though, before the Chernobyl disaster. But it certainly was similar about how he felt about a certain stalker. He was stubborn, and rash, and Doc had patched him up too many times. He dreaded the day he showed up with an injury he couldn't fix.

The final rumble of the blowout echoed for a second, and then the unnatural red brightness died down at once, creating a momentary illusion of total darkness. This increase in the frequency of emissions was odd. The Zone used to be much more predictable, but ever since the Big Emission it had turned fickle and unstable.

Moments later, a high pitched beep broke the peace. Doc got his PDA out of the pocket and saw he had a message. It was a single word, _"HELP",_ and the sender was Strelok. There was no other information on the message, but it did not matter. Doc tracked down Strelok's PDA to get his position. He was not very far from here, a twenty minute walk at a brisk pace, if you knew the right path. He grabbed his bag with emergency medical supplies and set off, Druzhok happily trotting after him.

He found Strelok halfway to the point where the PDA indicated he was. The stalker was dragging someone across the ground, using only his left arm hooked around his chest to do so. Doc immediately noticed the bandage in Strelok's right arm and the blood caked on the sleeve.

"What happened to you Strelok?"

"It's just a gunshot wound, but him..." Strelok was at loss of words to describe whatever happened to his companion, who Doc assumed was the infamous mercenary he heard so much about. "You have to help him Doc."

"Did he also get shot?" Apart from a nosebleed, he didn't look like he was wounded, but something must have happened to him.

"We got caught outside during the emission. I... I was unconscious for a good part of it, and when I awoke, he was like this."

Doc didn't know what to say. For starters, surviving a blowout while outside was nothing short of a miracle. Secondly, the fact Strelok said he'd lost consciousness was worrying, and it could mean some serious internal bleeding. And lastly, the mercenary did look dead. He knelt by his side and checked his pulse, prepared to tell Strelok the bad news. However, he found a pulse, weak but steady. Strelok sagged in relief at the news. Between the two of them they carried the mercenary to Doc's place. Strelok insisted on helping, despite barely being able to move his right arm without grimacing in pain.

Back in his shack, Doc settled the mercenary on one of the beds, unsure of what else he could do for him besides waiting and praying. Doc had no idea of how one should treat someone who had been exposed to a massive wave of psy energy. So he focused on healing what he could, namely Strelok's gunshot wound. He unwrapped the bandages and carefully removed the haemostatic sponge, in order to examine the wound.

It wasn't as bad as he feared, no signs of extreme damage or internal haemorrhaging. It was a clean wound, and he hoped there were no bullet fragments inside. That was impossible to know without an x-ray, of course. The bone didn't seem to be affected at all, thank goodness. Although once more, to be absolutely sure he would need an x-ray. Since that wasn't possible, Doc just cleansed the wound as best as possible and bandaged it again.

As he always did, Doc layered a couple of Soul shards between the bandages. The original artifact broke years ago, but the remaining shards still retained some of the original artifact's healing properties. It was a good trick. Wounds healed quicker, and the radiation they emitted was minimal, nothing a good swig of vodka couldn't cure. Speaking of which, he served a shot of the liquor to Strelok and another for himself. It was also good to calm the nerves.

If only treating the mercenary was that easy. Just to appease Strelok, he put a handful of Soul shards on a small pouch around the mercenary's neck; although he doubted the efficiency of such measure. It took some herculean effort, but in the end he managed to convince Strelok to go to sleep. The stalker was exhausted and it showed, keeping vigil over the mercenary would not help any of them.

"Call me when he wakes up." Strelok requested before leaving.

Doc didn't have the heart to tell him it was more of an ' _if'_ than a ' _when'_. And even if he did wake up, he might end a brainless shuffler. But he just agreed with Strelok and let him had a night of much needed sleep. He was also going to get some shut eye, checking on his patient could wait until morning. After all, all they could do was waiting.

#

He awoke to a stranger looming over him, in an unknown place. The stranger was an old man, who had been checking his pulse until he noticed Scar was awake. Unsure of what the fuck happened to him, Scar quickly surveyed his surroundings. The room wasn't a total ruin, so this was probably the old man's hideout. On one hand, it meant he was somewhere safe, at least for now. On the other hand, the lack of a certain stalker made him fear the worse. He sat up on the edge of the bed, immediately regretting the decision.

"There was a man with me, where is he?" The man regarded him with a strange expression. Scar held his gaze like it was a contest he intended to win.

"Strelok is still sleeping." Relief flooded him. His harebrained idea had worked, thank God. Then Scar realised the stranger had referred to Strelok by name.

"You're Strelok's friend, yes?" It was the old man's turn to be surprised.

"Yes, I am. And I know who you are." An awkward silence followed the old man's admission. He looked at him like a judge who was about to pass sentence. Scar endured the scrutiny, unflinching.

"I'll be honest, I don't like you. However, since for some strange reason Strelok seems to be fond of you, I'll try to be civil. But listen up young man, if you ever harm Strelok," the _again_ was loudly implied and both of them knew it, "I'll feed you to my pet pseudo-dog. Are we clear?"

Not very friendly, but he supposed his mistrust was understandable, given Scar's involvement with past events. So to mollify him, Scar gave a single nod of acquiescence. As if to prove the threat wasn't an empty one, a huge pseudo-dog strode into the room. Holy shit, seeing one of those things up close was unnerving. The beast started growling at him, and he had to tamp down on the impulse to scramble back and search for his weapons. Point taken, the old man wasn't kidding. The beast calmed down upon receiving an affectionate pat on the head from his owner. As intimidation techniques went, Scar had to admit this was one of the best. The solemnity of the moment was dissolved when Strelok entered the room.

"I heard voices Doc." He looked like he'd just woken up, bleary eyed and yawning.

The effect Strelok's presence had on him was immediate. Scar couldn't help it, he dropped his guarded expression and looked at the stalker with a soft smile. God, it was good to see him alive and well. In turn, Strelok's face bloomed with joy when he saw him. Then it was quickly replaced by rage.

"I'm going to murder you." He approached him like a storm of fury. "You tried to strangle me! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Ah, he'd be lying if he said he didn't expect something like this. He knew his decision had been somewhat sketchy, to say the least, but he'd been panicking and at the moment it sounded good. Besides, it worked!

"You're alive, aren't you?" Scar's justification did nothing to calm Strelok. Yeah, maybe he should have worded it better, but it was difficult to think clearly when he had just woken up.

The mercenary's declaration had left Strelok momentarily speechless. "You can be such asshole, you know that?"

"You complain now, but you looked pretty pleased when –"

"Shut up before I decide to kill you after all."

"I knew you would be cross with me," Scar admitted under the stalker's angry glare. "You were about to die and I wasn't sure I would survive either. I panicked and tried to think of a way to save you. It didn't sound as bad in the moment..."

"That's..." He combed his fingers through his short hair and sat on the edge of the bed. "That's really fucked up."

Doc coughed, gathering their attention. Scar had almost forgotten the old man was still there, watching their exchange and judging Scar's every word. At least he looked supremely uncomfortable, Scar noticed with petty satisfaction.

"I'll leave you alone to sort this out." Doc awkwardly excused himself out of the room.

With the old man gone, the pseudo-dog left as well. That was a relief, Scar had the impression the beast didn't like him much, but unlike its owner, the beast wasn't trying to be minimally civil. Good lord, what kind of crazy nutter keeps a pseudo-dog as a pet? Strelok's tired sigh brought him back to the present moment.

"Do all your plans to save people include a strangling attempt?"

"I admit that perhaps it wasn't the best idea, but you survived the blowout and that's all that matters. I couldn't stand there and do nothing while you died."

Maybe this time he had managed to explain himself a little better. Strelok regarded him with an expression Scar couldn't completely decipher. At least his fury was slowly melting away. Or so he hoped. Slowly, giving him ample time to move away if he wanted, Scar drew his hand near to Strelok's and grabbed it in a tenuous hold. Much to his surprise, the stalker welcomed the gesture. He even squeezed his hand. Scar squeezed back.

"If you ever again do something remotely similar, I'll kill you for real."

"I guess it's fair." He would have said that in such scenario there would be a waiting line to kill him, and his friend Doc was at the front of it, but it didn't seem appropriate. Instead, he swiped his thumb over Strelok's knuckles in a fleeting caress. "Does that mean you intend to continue travelling with me?"

Silence fell upon them as Strelok thought about it. Scar barely dared to breathe, waiting for his reply.

"I suppose, if you're going in the same direction as me, it wouldn't hurt to have company." His nonchalant way of talking was belied by the fact he was still holding Scar's hand.

"And in which direction would you be going?"

"Out of the swamp." Scar chuckled at his answer.

"Yeah, alright, I think we're going in the same direction."

First he would have to go to collect the data from _Clear Sky_ , but that shouldn't take long, and meanwhile Strelok would have time to say goodbye to his friend. Afterwards, his path surely was leading him out of the Great Swamp. And once out of the swamp, all the way to Yanov to deliver the data to Sakharov's old assistant.

"Tell me, how do you feel about a trip to the north? I've heard Yanov is a very peaceful place." Judging by Strelok's delightful chuckle, the stalker's answer would not disappoint him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	10. A Mostly Normal Life (So Far)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally decided to write an OC. Meet Shovel, farmgirl accidentally turned stalker.

Becoming a stalker wasn't a conscious decision for Yulia, it was more like an accident.

She was little more than a babe when the Chernobyl accident occurred, and unlike her sister Iryna, she remembered nothing of those days. Allegedly, they had been visiting mom's parents in Ivankiv when it happened. Their parents went back to the farm the very next day, but Yulia and her sister spent a good three months with their grandparents until it was decreed that their home was safe.

The Zone had been a constant background presence in her life. Their farm lay a scant four kilometres away from the area deemed unsafe by the government, and the fence cordoning off the exclusion Zone was visible on the distance from any point of their property. An improvised military outpost sat much further down the road, but they appeared oblivious to the existence of their farm, or the neighbouring ones.

Yulia's life was mostly normal: going to school on the nearest village, helping in the farm the weekends, going on camping trips with her friends every summer, learning to use granddad's old hunting rifle and going hunting with her father whe she was old enough.

Once, when Yulia was a teenager, rumours started to fly about a bus full of tourists that went into the exclusion Zone and then disappeared. Some last year students at her high school even said it was all part of an experiment of the government. But Yulia didn't pay much attention to it all, for she was way more interested in figuring out her crush on her history teacher, Miss Sobolev.

The military outpost saw a most curious affluence of vehicles those days, but they stayed away from the village, since they were mostly interested in what lay behind the Zone's outer perimeter. Some night the wind carried sounds to Yulia's farm of gunshots coming from deep into the Zone, but surely there was nothing to worry about, otherwise the neighbouring farms would have been warned, right?

Eventually things calmed down and stayed that way for a long time, years, even if the missing tourists were never found.

#

Yulia decided she liked living in the countryside and working in a farm, so after finishing her mandatory education she still lived with her parents. She didn't dream of living in a city, unlike Iryna who had married young and moved to Kyiv. Lucky her, she didn't live through one of the most terrifying experiences of Yulia's whole life.

Yulia had been working on the fields when it happened. At first it just looked like a storm, a really big one, but then the sky turned red and the earth began shaking like an earthquake. Away in the distance, beyond the fence separating them from the Zone, a wave of something that looked like fire was coming towards the village.

Yulia hopped off the tractor and ran home scared. Her parents did the same. They all huddled together, watching the strange phenomenon through the kitchen's window. Her father prayed and her mother wrung her hands nervously and mumbled incoherently about another nuclear failure. A strong wind hit the house, making the doors and windows rattle in a frankly alarming way. Thunder and lightning covered the red skies, and Yulia heard the agonized bleating of their untended sheep, like a macabre chorus. Whatever this was, it was not a normal storm.

It was over as suddenly as it began. One second the thunder was still echoing, and the next one the world went dark for a few seconds before going back to normal. Like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. It seemed safe enough to go out now, so she went towards the door. Her mother pleaded her to stay, and her father was still praying, but she was already outside.

Everything looked like it always did, except for the dead birds scattered all over. To her surprise, the sheep were completely unharmed and munching on wild herbs as if nothing happened.

Similar stories came from the neighbouring farms. Anyone living up to about five or six kilometres from the Zone had seen it, but the people living in the village hadn't noticed the red skies and lightning. Thankfully everything was back to normal now. The only exception was the Kolesnik's son, Oleg. He had been caught outside during the strange storm. He still lived, but the shock of such experience had left him mute and almost catatonic. Yulia had always considered Oleg a jerk, but she wouldn't say he deserved this.

#

Since the Red Storm hit the village, strange incidents started to happen. At first it was subtle, but as the months passed it became worse. Like the behaviour of Oleg, their neighbour's son.

The Red Storm had affected him severely, and now he only moved to follow people around like a robot. If there was nobody he could follow, he could stand still for hours, shuffling in place and waiting. Then he started to wander around the crop fields on his own. sometime even getting into the Marchenkos' property. Yulia had found him more than once standing on her crops, looking towards the Zone and silently moving his mouth like he was trying to say something. And invariably, when he noticed her presence, he would turn around and look at her with those dead eyes of his. Oleg might be alive, but when he looked at you it was obvious he was empty inside, despite the odd flickers of something that resembled awareness. It gave her the creeps.

And then came the reports of the anomalies. There was no other word for it, they were just anomalies. Like the one Yulia found one day in the middle of her crops.

She had been checking if the sugar beets were ready to begin the harvest when she noticed something strange a few metres ahead. And by strange, Yulia meant she even said _"Blin! What the devil is this?"_ out loud to herself. If she had to describe it, she would say it was like a rainwater puddle, but without water. Instead it had little bubbling clouds of smoke, and it emitted a faint greenish glow. What in the lord's name was that? The plants around it looked wilted and sickly, and the ones under it had freaking melted. Melted! Surely this couldn't be good for the sugar beets. And the stench was disgusting, augh, like someone was macerating rotten leaves on chlorine.

Her family wasn't the only one affected. Another of those puddles had appeared on the Baniak's farm, in their chicken coop. It was as harmful to their chickens as it had been to Yulia's sugar beets. And since the smell of the melted sugar beets made her gag, she didn't want to imagine how melted and burnt poultry smelt like.

The biggest surprise came when those strange things, the anomalies, vanished after some days. The only trace of it was a blackened patch of dead vegetables on Yulia's crop field.

Once again, only the most remote farms had been affected, the same ones who suffered the effects of the Red Storm. The Baniaks left after a couple of weeks and never came back, but the Kolesniks endured, just like Yulia's family. The Marchenkos had been living in this farm for years, and neither Yulia nor her parents wanted to leave just because some weird thing appeared and disappeared on their fields. They decided to continue like nothing happened. Although they disposed of the melted plants and did not harvest either the sickly looking ones that had been close to the strange puddle.

#

The forest surrounding the farm fields had always acted as a buffer between them and the Zone, hiding the ugly fence from their view. However, lately the forest had become slightly sinister. A strange crackling sound came from within it, and some nights a faint glow accompanied the sound of crackling discharges. No one dared to say it clearly, but everyone talked about it in whispers: it was because of the Red Storm. No, not the first one, the other one that happened a few months ago. It brought back the strange acid puddles to the farm fields; why couldn't it be the reason of the unsettling noises in the forest?

Truth was hunters no longer went there. Except for Yulia. Although she wasn't there out of her own volition, not exactly. Something had been destroying her crops. She would bet it was a boar. Boars could be a pain in the ass, so she was after its trail. It wouldn't be the first time she hunted one, and if she was lucky her mum would prepare a delicious buzhenyna like the last time she hunted one.

So far, the boar's trail was clear and the forest was remarkably unremarkable. But as she went deeper into the wilderness things started to get weird. The usual forest sounds became dimmer and a strange static noise seemed to come from somewhere close, between the trees. But there were no electricity lines crossing the forest, so where was that sound coming from? The sound seemed to get closer and closer to her. Feeling her hair stand on end, Yulia turned around. A ball of electricity was floating there. A small branch levitated up to it and then came hurtling towards her. Yulia dodged it and ran like the devil was after her. Was this really happening? No, this couldn't be real, she must be still at home, sleeping and having a weird dream... A small rock smashed against a tree's trunk near her. Well, that seemed real enough. Better to run faster, just in case it wasn't a dream after all.

The forest got thicker and Yulia got her feet tangled in a snarled mess of vines covering something metallic. She jumped over it and kept going, trying to not look behind. Right now she didn't even care about the boar she was supposedly after, getting away from that _thing_ was her only goal. Eventually, she reached a big clearing and finally dared to look behind. Nothing seemed to be following, even if the feeling of being watched hadn't vanished completely. However, this clearing felt safe enough. The sun shone brightly, birds chirped happily and a pair of boars lazed around in the sun. No wonder her crop fields were wrecked, there were two of them! And they were huge. She raised her rifle, readied herself, and a hail of bullets rained onto the boars. What the heck happened? That hadn't been her doing.

The boars got angry at this show of aggression and swarmed up a lone figure on the other side of the clearing. Yulia rushed to help the idiot before the boars got to him. However, the stranger was in no need of rescue, as she soon saw. The man fired again and soon both boars fell dead. His weapon of choice made her raise her eyebrows.

"Isn't that a bit, uh, extreme, for a hunting trip?" She said eyeing his submachine gun. He didn't look like a soldier, but that was no normal hunting weapon.

"I guess you could say this is an extreme hunting trip," the man laughed, but Yulia had no idea what was so funny. "You know, I could use a companion now that Sergei kicked the bucket."

"I just want my boar." Yulia wasn't remotely inclined to partner up with a weirdo she just met. He could be dangerous, for all she knew. For God's sake, he was carrying a freaking submachine gun and talking about a dead companion like one talked about the weather!

"Sure thing, sorry for stealing your kill."

Now that she looked closely, the boars were different than she expected: balding patches, an extra pair of tusks, and their hooves were deformed. Well, she hoped they would be edible all the same. She picked the most normal looking one and slung the carcass over her shoulders.

"See ya!" The stranger shouted at her back as Yulia started to retrace her steps.

_Yeah, not even in your dreams buddy_ , she thought. No offense, but she didn't like the idea of armed strangers skulking around her forest. Although, being honest, maybe she wouldn't mind much if the stranger in question was a cute lady.

Yulia went back, eyeing carefully every dark corner of the forest. She hoped this time she wouldn't meet the floating ball of energy, she didn't feel ready to face such madness again. Luckily she met no strange, unexplainable things in her way, and by the time she was out of the forest she had almost convinced herself it had been a hallucination. Almost.

Back home Yulia presented her parents the clean carcass of the boar. They asked her about her trip to the forest, and she replied it had all been fine. She wasn't sure her strained smile and upbeat tone fooled them, but they asked no further questions. It was all worth it though, her mum prepared some fantastic kovbasa with the meat she brought.

#

During one of her frequent hunting trips, she decided to go back to the thick of the forest. She hadn't gone that deep into it since _that_ time, but she hadn't stopped thinking about it. Maybe it was masochism or just plain curiosity, but she wanted to see if the floating ball of electricity was still there. Perhaps this time she would shoot at it if it started throwing things at her, just to see what would happen. However, the forest was deserted. She didn't even see squirrels or any other kind of critter around.

Following the same path, she eventually came back to the same clearing she arrived last time, where she met that strange guy some months ago. The place still looked as nice as she remembered. She closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the reigning peace. It was lovely.

The sound of voices approaching made her open her eyes again. Further ahead was a cracked road, and walking along it were three armed men. Great, more weirdoes.

"Well met, fellow stalker." One of them greeted her.

"What did you call me?" She'd heard that term on the news recently, and she certainly didn't fit any of its possible meanings!

"Girl, it's you! Knew I'd see you again," the man in the middle said. Oh, he was _that_ guy. Which where the odds of finding him again? "All who hear the call of the Zone have a certain air about them, you know?"

The what now?! No way, the Zone was cordoned off by a fence and... and the snarled mess of vines she jumped over where covering the broken pieces of the fence, weren't they? It would explain why whatever was underneath it made a metallic sound. Most probably it had been broken by the boars she had tracked, she realised. So Yulia stood there, gaping like a fish in the face of such revelations.

"Come with us, we're going to the camp."

"I'm just hunting," she protested feebly, still too stunned processing the fact that she'd been traipsing in the Zone without knowing where she was. Wasn't this place supposed to be dangerously irradiated? She felt no different here than at the farm.

"Aren't we all? Hunting for artifacts!" The youngest of the group smiled over excitedly at her. He thrust his hand out. "Evgenii Vasylyk."

She took his hand out of reflex, her parents hadn't raised to be rude."Yulia Marchenko."

"Those are Markov and Hedgehog," Evgenii pointed at the one who recognised her and the other guy, who still hadn't said a word.

In the end the followed them to their camp, because resisting the enthusiastic offers of Evgenii was as useless as trying to scold a puppy. The camp turned out to be a small abandoned village, full of stalkers. And at first glance they all seemed to be men. Although it was hard to tell when everyone wore variations of the same bulky green suits or oversized jackets. Dressed as she was in her usual hunting gear she fit right in, nobody glanced twice in her direction. Her new companions led her to a campfire in the middle of village, where other stalkers were listening a guy play the guitar.

"Welcome to the rookie camp," Markov sat down on the ground and the rest followed his example. Yulia as well. "All newcomers start here usually, safest place around for miles."

"It's nice." It reminded Yulia of when she went with a camping with her friends. Only with way more people.

"It's a shithole, but a half-decent one." Hedgehog spoke for the first time.

"Wow, aren't you a ray of sunshine?" Yulia's remark made them all laugh. Well, all except Hedgehog.

"Ignore most of what he says, he likes to complain," Markov said when he stopped laughing. "But he's damn good at surviving out there."

"Yeah, we're going artifact hunting in Dark Valley." Evgenii looked so enthused that it was almost contagious. "Wanna come with us?"

"Artifact hunting?" She honestly had no idea what he was talking about. All she knew about stalkers was that they went into the Zone illegally, and that the military didn't like them.

"Ah, artifacts," Markov said with a dreamy sigh. "What every stalker wants to find, best damn way to make quick money."

"We don't need another helpless rookie on the team." True to Markov's warning, Hedgehog was complaining yet again. "She looks like she just arrived, I bet she hasn't even seen any anomaly yet."

"Anomaly? Like a smoking puddle that glows and melts things?" Yulia was instantly reminded of her poor sugar beets. And then of something else. "Or a ball of electricity?"

"See? She knows. And she can pick up the rest on the go. Best way to learn is experience." Markov looked smugly at him and Yulia could tell Hedgehog was not amused in the least.

"Yes, and I have bolts!" Evgenii added, patting his pocket proudly. "I'll teach her how to use them."

Hedgehog didn't look amused or happy with the situation. "Whatever, don't expect me to babysit the rookies."

"So what do you say girl, wanna come artifact hunting? We'll split the cash evenly." The offer was certainly tempting, and judging by Markov's smirk he knew it.

Yulia thought about it. She could use some extra money. Her parents had to ask for a loan to buy a new tractor, and currently they had no money to pay for it. The farm's productivity plummeted after the first Red Storm. Apparently the anomalies had messed up the soil big time. A little adventure sounded good, especially if it ended in a profitable way.

"Yes, why not." She had told her parents she was going on a long hunting trip, this gave her a three day margin to come back before they started to get seriously worried.

"Great, I'll get you a PDA. Evgenii will give you some bolts."

While Markov went to procure a PDA for her, the young rookie gave her two handfuls of bolts and launched into an explanation of how to use them to spot anomalies. Yulia didn't like hearing some of those anomalies were nearly impossible to detect without throwing a bolt, but she supposed it couldn't be worse than a floating ball of energy throwing rocks at her.

#

Reaching Dark Valley hadn't taken much time. Once out of the rookie camp, Markov led them across the field in a more or less straight line, right to a tunnel entrance. There she saw firsthand the burnt fuzz. Yulia was unimpressed, it was no more dangerous than a stinging plant.

Dark Valley lay at the other side of the tunnel. A freaking long tunnel, in Yulia's opinion. The scenery on the other side wasn't radically different, just some more trees and denser vegetation. However, Evgenii acted like being here was kind of a big deal, almost bouncing in excitement.

"Never been so far from the camp before!" Hedgehog huffed in irritation at his exuberance, and Markov wore an indulgent smile plastered on his face.

"Me neither," she said. Completely true, even if it hadn't the same significance for her.

"Ok, now shut up and follow me. You too, Markov." They all fell silent and let Hedgehog take point.

A huge fenced complex sat by the side of the road. It was empty now, though according to Markov it was an occasional bandit hideout. That made Yulia nervous. She had no idea bandits were a real problem here, as far as she knew the weapons were to hunt or defend themselves from wild animals.

They found the first anomalies further down the road. There was a patch of cracked asphalt that constantly drew their attention, like something wavered in the corner of their eyes, yet there was nothing there that they could see. Markov threw a bolt and the distortion grew in intensity. Also, the bolt was catapulted up in the air like thrown by a spring resort. Yulia thought it was hilarious and threw another bolt. Soon she and Evgenii were throwing bolts and pebbles at it, trying to see who could make it jump higher. Meanwhile, Hedgehog was scanning the area with a weird device that she later learnt it was an artifact detector. Nothing to be found here, so Hedgehog barked at them to stop playing and follow him again. Spoilsport.

Later, while crossing a bridge, Hedgehog vetoed Markov's idea to go to the acid lake below them. Didn't that sound wonderful? No, it wasn't actually made of acid, as Markov explained. It was just radioactive and full of acid anomalies, which gave the waters a green glow.

So instead they went towards an abandoned factory, surrounded by anomalies at this side of the fence. This time she paid close attention to how Hedgehog used the device. It seemed to do nothing, until it started beeping and the small light bulb flashed green.

"There, on that whirligig," he told them.

"Ha, luck finally smiles on us," Markov happily clapped his hands once. "Alright, who wants to try?"

Predictably, Evgenii jumped at the chance. The eager rookie edged closer and closer to the whirligig, until he was nearly in it. "I see it, it's floating on the centre of the anomaly!"

"Grab it quick like lightning, and then run the hell out of it." Markov made it sounds easy, but how easy was it really to run out of the anomaly?

Evgenii grabbed something from midair, and then he ran. The anomaly seemed to be sucking him in, and Yulia bit her nails as she watched him fight its pull. After some tense seconds he finally wrenched free.

"Woohoo, I did it!" He held a strange rock up in the air, his fist clenched tight over it.

"A Gravi. Not bad for your first time, kid." Markov extended his hand, eyeing the rock. "I'll carry the extra weight, my backpack it's almost empty."

"No more in this one," Hedgehog said, waving the device around. "I think I saw another anomaly close to the gates."

"Yeah, let's keep going," Markov agreed, studying the rock Evgenii retrieved. It looked heavy.

The anomaly by the side of the gates was empty. Yulia and Evgenii threw bolts around the small patio, but there were no anomalies there.

"Okay, let's circle around the fence and search behind." Markov proposed and Hedgehog grunted in approval.

Almost in front of the gates Hedghog stopped dead on his tracks. He looked around, swivelling like a vane trapped on the wind. Something was not right, even the birds had quieted down. Yulia's felt the sudden and unexplainable urge to run, escape, do something now. A nightmarish beast leapt from behind an abandoned car, landing on top of Hedgehog. Oh God, oh God, this was bigger than a lion! It crushed the stalker's windpipe and tore his throat with a bite from one of its heads. Why did it have to heads?! She heard a terrified whimper, but she had no idea if it had been hers or from one of her companions.

The two headed monster lost all interest in the dead stalker and gazed at the three live ones. It decided she was the most interesting one and slowly started to approach her. Yulia became rooted to the spot in terror. Evgenii was on her left, fumbling to load his Fort-12, and that made her remember her own weapon. Getting the hunting rifle out of its back holster in a practiced move, she fired a slug to one of its two heads. The monster shook its head, annoyed, and she shot again. This time she managed to tear off part of one ear. Evgenii was also shooting at it, with mixed results. Their bullets seemingly were not doing much, except annoying it. She backed down and dragged Evgenii with her, hoping to arrive to the building behind them before the beast jumped at them and they ended like Hedgehog.

"Markov! Help!" Evgenii cried at the top of his lungs, but he was nowhere to be found. This did not bode well.

The entrance of the building was thankfully not big enough to let the two headed beast in. The metal doors were ajar instead of fully open, and they seemed to be either stuck or fixed to the ground. That didn't prevent the beast from trying to catch them with its claws, pushing one of its front paws through the entrance. Maybe if they went deeper into the building, until that thing could not see them, then it would leave.

They went into another dark room, bumping into some old furniture, until they reached a staircase going up. The sound of something moving around in the dark made them hesitate about going upstairs. However, the beast's growls were louder now, like it was trying to get its heads through the entrance.

"Up, let's go up." She decided. Even if the two headed beast managed to get in, she doubted it would fit in the stairwell.

However, before they got to the second floor, while they were in the middle of the stairs, something else started to crawl down. It cut a frighteningly human figure, even if it walked on all fours. The raspy grunts it emitted weren't like any sound a human should make. It jumped at Evgenii and he tumbled down the stairs, the new creature still tangled with him. Their sudden fall made Yulia stumble and hit the edge of the step with her knees. Her new kneeling position saved her from being knocked by another of these new creatures. She just heard the wheezing and the grunts, and then it jumped and sailed over her head. What a shame the fall didn't seem to hurt it at all.

Evgenii's scream was of pain made her hairs stand on end. Yulia scrambled to get up and reloaded her hunting rifle. The flashlight Evgenii had been carrying had fallen and rolled down, and now it lay forgotten on the floor. In the dim light and shadows, the creatures looked freakishly human and feral and wrong. Evgenii was trying to kick one off him, while clutching his bleeding arm. The other was crawling towards her. Yulia's hunting instincts kicked on and she didn't stop to think, she raised her hunting rifle and shot.

The slanted light ray from the flashlight was enough to see the creature jump in surprise and grunt in pain when she fired. And again. The creature limped in circles, like it was trying to decide whether to attack her or flee- That did give her time to reload again. In the end it decided to jump at her, but she was faster than the mutant and fired at it before it jumped. That made it turn around in a limping attempt to escape from her. A second shot, this time to its back, proved fatal.

The one trying to maul Evgenii stopped fighting when Yulia killed the other creature, then it skittered away, howling mournfully. Oh no! Now she felt guilty for killing its companion, even if they had been trying to kill her and Evgenii. But the creature had sounded so sad, almost human.

"Thank you," Evgenii was still clutching his right forearm, "I think it wanted to eat me."

"I did nothing to that one," she felt obliged to point.

"Maybe you scared it?"

She doubted it. In fact, she hoped it hadn't gone to plot revenge against them for killing its friend. As long as it stayed away from them it would be fine. The sound coming from the entrance had quieted some, but the two headed monster was still out there, occasionally clawing against the doors. And it was almost nightfall. This would be a long and harrowing night.

After bandaging his arm, Evgenii proposed to go to the second floor. This time nothing jumped at them, thank God. The second floor was mainly a big room that was almost empty. They sat against the wall, on a corner, watching the stairs and the door at the other end of the room. If anything tried to come here at least they wouldn't be caught unaware. The beast occasionally kept trying to get in, charging against the entrance and making the metal doors clank.

"Do you think Markov's also dead?" Oh great, now she had to break the bad news to him.

"Either that or he abandoned us to save his sorry hide." She was in no mood to mince her words.

"No, no. He must have gone for reinforcements." To be fair, not even Evgenii himself sounded like he believed that.

Unsurprisingly, his attempt at conversation died out after that. They decided to sleep one at a time while the other kept watch, but Yulia couldn't sleep. She dozed off a handful of times, yet every time she heard any noise she would snap her eyes open and peer nervously at the darkness. But so far the freakish creature hadn't come after them to exact revenge for the death of its friend. Evgenii also had problems falling asleep, claiming his whole body hurt from falling down the stairs.

"How did you end up in the Zone?" He asked her in the dead of the night.

"Would you believe it if I told you I got here because of a small mistake?"

His laugh was a smothered snort. "Almost everyone I know came here came running away from some mistake or another."

Not what she meant, but she didn't bother to correct him. It was better than having to explain she actually got lost and arrived to the Zone because she hadn't seen the fence was broken.

"What about you?" She asked instead.

"I heard you could make quick money here and I was broke, unemployed and about to be kicked out from my flat... so you can guess the rest."

"Yeah, I get it." After all, it had been the promise of money what convinced Yulia to go with them.

A long silence followed their exchange. Evgenii eventually fell asleep, and his snores were the only noise breaking the oppressive silence of the night. The two headed monster gave up trying to get in a long while ago, probably an hour or so. Maybe it grew bored and left. However Yulia didn't feel like checking it right now, aided only by the narrow beam of the flashlight. And the other creature was still somewhere on this building. She'd heard it grunting at the bottom of the stairs once. She prayed it was alone and there weren't more of those waiting for them to go downstairs.

When the sun rose she was itching to get out of this damned building. All she wanted was to go back to the camp and ask around about Markov's possible whereabouts, so she could find him and punch him in the face for being a dirty coward and leaving them to their luck. She woke up Evgenii, who readily agreed with her idea to get out of here ASAP.

Nothing ambushed them on their way out, although they had their weapons ready to shoot anything that moved. Cautiously poking her head out of the door, Yulia observed the surroundings. Claw marks and a dented door, but no other signs of the two headed beast's presence. A quick sweep of the front patio revealed it wasn't hiding behind any corner. The only other grisly reminder of yesterday's misadventure was Hedgehog's corpse, mauled and missing some limbs. Gruesome, but Yulia reminded herself she'd seen more blood and entrails when cleaning the pieces she hunted.

"He deserves a burial, don't you think?" Evgenii still talked in whispers like he'd done through the night.

"Yeah, he does." It wasn't his fault Markov turned out to be a treacherous swine. Burying him was the decent thing to do. "I've seen a shovel back there. You watch out for trouble while I dig, okay?"

"I can help you dig." No, he couldn't. She'd seen how he moved, stiff like a stick, his ribs and back probably still sore from the fall down the stairs. It would be a miracle if he could even raise a shovelful of dirt.

"You should make the cross or whatever you want to use to mark the grave." Yulia suggested.

She started to dig the grave. It was hard work and soon she was sweating. Her braid had come half undone and her dirty blonde hair clung to her forehead. When the ditch was done, they rolled Hedgehog's remains in. She started shovelling the earth back into the hole, and when she was almost done Evgenii scampered off to confection a rudimentary cross with some scraps he'd seen on the patio. Therefore, no one noticed the unnaturally big dog approaching. Yulia realised she wasn't alone when she heard a growl a few feet ahead of her. Thinking the humanoid thing from last night had followed them outside the building, she slowly turned around. But no, it was the biggest, ugliest and meanest dog she'd ever seen, barking at her and its spittle flying everywhere. Where the heck had she left her weapon?

The dog lunged against her, and Yulia dodged it and hit it with the only thing she had at hand, the shovel. This only served to enrage the dog. Where was Evgenii when she needed help? If he'd also abandoned her, God help him when she tracked him down. Yulia whacked the dog's head with the shovel again, putting as much strength into the hit as possible. The dog was momentarily disoriented but otherwise fine. Her next hit was so hard the shovel's wooden handle broke with a loud crack. The dog backed away a couple of steps, furious but wary of her. And then a burst from an AK killed it. She turned around, broken shovel held high in case it was Markov and she wanted to smack him in the face.

"Woah, put that down!" A tall and lanky stalker dressed in green camo laughed at her, hands up in mock surrender. The gasmask distorted the voice, but Yulia could swear it was a woman.

"Those were good hits, shame the shovel broke." The other one told her. Both of them wore gasmasks and their voices were somewhat distorted.

Right then Evgenii came running from the abandoned building, Fort-12 in one hand and a misshapen cross made with metal scraps in the other.

"Heard the shots, came as fast as I could," he panted.

"Calm down, we were just helping shovel girl here with the pseudo-dog." The lanky stalker explained to Evgenii, who lowered his pistol after one look at the dead pseudo-dog.

"Are you burying a friend?" The other stalker asked, voice laced with sympathy.

"A two headed thing killed him last night." Yulia gave an abridged version of the facts, and only because they had indeed saved her from the pseudo-dog.

"A chimera? Here?" Both of them looked around nervously, but the chimera was long gone. "Let's finish the burial before it decides to come back."

The two stalkers, who introduced each other as Lefty and Mouse, helped her pushing the earth back into the grave –with their hands, since there was only one shovel and it was broken– and stick the makeshift cross into the ground. And all the while, Lefty wouldn't stop talking.

"You know, I had never seen anyone before face off a pseudo-dog armed with just a shovel. That's pretty badass." Lefty stopped shoving dirt into the grave to take off the gasmask. "You should come to our base with us, we could make a toast to your dead friend and to Shovel's unique fighting style."

It was then, with the mask off, that Yulia had the confirmation to her earlier guess: Lefty was a woman. She looked younger than her, almost fresh out of college.

"You could join us, Freedom is always accepting new stalkers." Mouse's offer caught her off guard.

What the heck was Freedom? She made a note to ask Evgenii about it later, the rookie would probably know. Speaking of the devil, Evgenii was looking at her, waiting for her to answer to Mouse. That was surprising. He had more experience than her, half the time Yulia had no idea of what was going on, so why was he waiting for her to decide?

"I'm going back to the rookie camp," she decided, and then back home. She wasn't feeling very trusting after her experience yesterday. Yes, Mouse and Lefty seemed nice enough, even if Lefty kept calling her Shovel girl and variations of it, but Markov also seemed nice, and look what happened afterwards. Much to her relief, they took her refusal calmly.

"Be careful, there's been a lot of messages about military activity coming from the Cordon." With that final warning Mouse turned around and continued on his way.

"If you change your mind about that, or simply want someone to drink with, come find us!" Lefty said at the top of her lungs as she trailed after Mouse.

The Freedomers left and Yulia and Evgenii were left standing at Hedgehog's grave. She felt like maybe someone should say a few words, but neither of them knew him very well. So they kept a minute of silent contemplation and then left.

#

The way back to the rookie village wasn't overly long, but to Yulia it felt the longest she'd ever walked. She was tired and hadn't slept since about twenty-four hours ago. All she wanted was to get home, fall face first into her bed and nap for hours.

Arriving to the main camp was easier than expected, despite the ominous sound of a military chopper patrolling the area. And when they arrived they found the stalkers in the village agitated and worried. Evgenii asked her to wait for him while he went to visit the trader, so Yulia decided to find what was going on.

"Hey, what's everyone talking about?" She intercepted the first stalker she met, a scruffy guy with claw marks over his face.

"Haven't you heard? The military is cracking down hard on new arrivals. They have increased the patrols all over the border and seized a few farms near the border."

She went white and dread seized her. "That's my home you're talking about!"

"Really?" The stalker looked at her with a mix of pity and disbelief. "I heard they found anomalies in the crop fields and ordered the evacuation of everyone."

That was not good at all. What the heck was happening? Was everyone alright or had the military had to evacuate the people by force? Her family had no idea where she was, and Yulia couldn't go back because the damn military patrols would mistake her for a stalker and shoot on sight.

She was too preoccupied with this information and didn't notice Evgenii was back until he waved a wad of bills in front of her.

"I found a Stone Flower stashed away while I was making Hedgehog's cross," he explained, looking oddly apologetic. "The original deal was to split everything evenly, and after... well, you deserve half of it."

Eight hundred roubles. She was speechless. That was more than doubling what she had right now.

"You're a stand-up guy Evgenii." For added emphasis, she gave him a friendly punch in the arm.

"So what's gotten into everyone? They all look nervous." This simple question wiped out Yulia's smile.

"I may have to stay here for a bit longer," she admitted before telling him the latest news.

#

Staying in the Zone for a little longer turned out to be a whole month and counting.

At first she stayed in the rookie camp with Evgenii, bidding her time and waiting for the military to either go away or relax their iron grip of the border. But that wasn't happening.

She had been taking the odd job from Wolf to hunt some mutants. The pay wasn't that good but it was a way to keep her entertained and gain some cash. And she forged herself a reputation of being a good hunter amongst her fellow stalkers. More so, after Evgenii told the story of their adventure one night around the campfire everyone decided Lefty had had the right idea and started to call her Shovel. She thought it sounded silly, but nicknames were important, or so Evgenii told her.

Even though dealing with Sidorovich made her skin crawl, he had ways to send messages to the exterior. And it only cost her almost all her money and supplies, damn crook he was. But thanks to that now she knew her parents were fine, residing in Kyiv with her sister Iryna. Yulia had been declared missing, yet nobody was searching for her, much to her family's frustration. At least with her message they would know she was still alive.

The military patrols hadn't diminished at all, if anything they grew bolder. The rookie village was a safe haven, but it was clear the military wanted full control of the Cordon. Her hunting trips became more dangerous, and not because of the mutants. And the pay wasn't that good, counting she needed more bullets and supplies. Of course, the solution to her problems would be to find another artifact or two. In fact, it was Evgenii who proposed the idea, exactly one day after she sent her message through Sidorovich. They were seated around the campfire, listening how a newcomer played the harmonica, when Evgenii sprung the idea on her.

"What do you think about some artifact hunting?" He gave her ample time to think about it and it wasn't until she shrugged noncommittally that he pressed the issue. "C'mon Shovel, just one artifact would be worth the same than three of you hunting jobs!"

"You're exaggerating," she chuckled. "And I told you to drop this Shovel thing."

"Sure thing Shovel." She cuffed him lightly and told him he was worse than her sister. He just laughed.

"We could go to Garbage," he suggested happily, like the prospect of radioactive piles of trash was the best thing ever. "I've heard there's a lot of artifacts there."

"And from what I've heard, every rookie on this camp has done the same or is planning to do so," she sighed. Those were bad odds to find anything worthwhile. "We should go somewhere else."

"What do you have in mind?" He picked an empty pack of cigarettes from the ground and started tearing it into pieces he later threw it into the fire.

"Agroprom? Yantar?"

"Ugh, not Yantar. I don't feel ready to face zombies." Evgenii shuddered.

"I thought that was just some tall tale to scare the newbies?" The idea that there really could be zombies somewhere was chilling. Zombies weren't real, were they?

"I'm not risking it." Evgenii declared. Yes, she could agree with that.

"Agroprom then?"

"I guess," he said while flicking another piece of the cigarette pack into the fire. "We have to go through Garbage all the same, might as well explore the area a bit, yeah?"

"Fine," she sighed in exasperation. "If you're so invested in seeing mountains of trash, I suppose there's no harm in having a quick look."

His triumphant smile was slightly aggravating, but he looked happy like none of them had been since their encounter with the chimera. Speaking of which, it frustrated her to no end that nobody knew where Markov had vanished to. Part of her wished he was dead in a ditch somewhere, and part of her also wished him alive so she could one day punch his teeth out for being a backstabbing bastard. But for now she would plan this trip to Garbage and Agroprom, and perhaps when they came back she would have news about her family's situation or her family's farm. It was silly compared with everything else, but she was worried by their sheep, which were at the mercy of the military and their scientific team.

"Tomorrow morning then. We fill our packs with ammo and supplies and then we set off to Garbage. And Agroprom." The last part he added as an afterthought, but she didn't notice it.

Yes, a small trip in search of artifacts was just what she needed to get her head out of her problems. There was only one teensy problem.

"Uh, Evgenii? Don't we need one of those detector things to locate the artifacts?"

" _Blyat_!" His face of surprised realization was too funny and she broke laughing. This expedition was off to a fantastic start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, so if I got something outrageously wrong or messed up anything, don't be afraid to let me know. After all, I'm not from any slav country and my knowledge is rather limited.


	11. Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally it's here, the promised story about Strelok's life post CoP. This one could also be called "Strelok is miserable: The Story".

At first glance it was difficult to believe _this_ was the famous Strelok, the stalker who disabled the Brain Scorcher and then went into Pripyat by himself to defy the Monolith. Degtaryev had been expecting a man though as nails, probably carrying an exosuit, not a skinny, mousy man who looked about to collapse in exhaustion. Degtyarev would lie if he said he hadn't been slightly disappointed.

Upon further reflection though, the man had been surviving on his own in this Monolith infested city for God knows how long. Yeah, he could totally believe that was the same man he'd heard so much about. And he even had the gall to come strolling into the military base, after driving them nuts with the signal they kept detecting, and paint the higher ups as total incompetents with just a couple of phrases. Degtyarev immediately liked him. He was itching to talk with him and give him back the content of the stashes he found. But Degtyarev had no idea of how to approach him without looking like a creep; because, let's face it, what kind of person collects pieces of another person's life? So he decided first to strike up a conversation with him regarding other things.

After a some of questions about the CNPP and the Monolith –he was curious, ok?– Degtyarev finally confessed finding the caches of Strelok's group. To say Strelok was surprised was an understatement.

"Wonder how you could find them..." Yeah, they had been well hidden, but Degtyarev was damn good at finding clues and hidden things. "There should have been some records left. Found any of them?"

The barely disguised hope in the stalker's voice caught him off guard. Degtyarev had supposed he would be grateful to have back the notes from his comrades, yet he never imagined Strelok was going to react like those messages were life's greatest treasure. Strelok looked like he was going to hug him, but in the end he settled for a heartfelt " _Thank you"_ , and a promise to not forget what Degtyarev had done.

#

The evacuation was a nightmare. Just after stepping out of the Laundromat, a horde of zombified stalkers was waiting for them. They kept coming, wave after wave, until Degtyarev almost thought he was in the _Night of the living dead_.

Then, when they were done with the zombies, it was the turn for the endless hordes of mutants coming for them. If this kept up they would run out of ammo before arriving to the evacuation point. It was Strelok who solved their problem when he started running in an effort to leave the mutants behind. No shame in running away when you were about to be overrun, it was a sound strategy. Although this panicked sprinting through the streets of Pripyat could hardly be called a strategic fall back. But dignity comes a distant second to survival.

Nevertheless, herding mutants against them wasn't the only trick at the disposal of the Zone. A massive psy emission hit them on their way to the evacuation point, though thankfully it wasn't a full blown blowout. Several soldiers stumbled like drunk at the sudden emission, and Rogovets went down babbling like a madman. Degtyarev helped him up and tried to calm him, yet he ended shaking the stunned man to bring him out of his trance. It worked, sort of. However Rogovets was in no fit state to continue right now, he could barely stand up. Kovalsky materialized by their side and ordered Degtyarev to press on to the evacuation point with Strelok and Tarasov. The rest would follow in a moment, once Rogovets could keep himself upright.

Once they arrived to the extraction point the chopper wasn't waiting for them as it should. The evacuation team had been surprised by a Monolith squad and now they couldn't land. This mission had been a shitstorm since setting foot on this godforsaken city and it looked like it wasn't going to change now. Degtyarev was sure he'd cleansed the Prometheus Theatre just yesterday, as well as their base on the River Port. Where the hell were these bastards coming from?

Kovalsky and the rest arrived just in time to help. Degtyarev had already taken out the preacher, but more and more Monolith fighters kept appearing at an alarming pace.

The small square was swept in chaos. Bullets flew from one side to the other while more snipers targeted them and the helicopter from the roof of the River Port. One of them landed a crippling shot on Sokolov and another one killed Valentyr. Wounded as he was, Sokolov died shortly after in the brutal firefight against the Monolithians. Kovalsky ordered them all to fall back to the centre of the square and let the chopper blast the snipers off the roof. Still, that did not get rid of the Monolith fighters already surrounding them. It was a brutal fight that had no end in sight, as the Monolithians seemed to have never ending reinforcements. No matter how many enemies Degtyarev killed, more would come. In comparison to the military and Monolith, Strelok was underequipped with his modified AK and the recently returned SIG. And yet he was killing as many Monolith fighters as the soldiers, if not more. He truly was a legend of the Zone.

When they reached a lull in their fighting and the helicopter finally landed, Strelok was one of the first to get in, but only because Tarasov dragged him inside. He looked awfully indignant at that and Degtyarev understood his outrage. Getting the stalker out from here alive was one of their priorities, true, but maybe that hadn't been the most elegant way to ensure he boarded the chopper in one piece.

The helicopter took to the air and Degtyarev watched as the buildings of Pripyat became smaller and smaller in the distance. They had done it! This was it, his mission was over. Degtyarev didn't know how he felt about that. On one hand, good riddance to Pripyat, with its mutants and crazed Monolithians. On the other hand, judging by the introspective silence that had taken over the chopper, he wasn't the only one having conflicting feelings about their departure.

#

The Scientific Institute for Research of the Chernobyl Anomalous Area –or you know, just the Institute– was a monstrously huge building in the heart of Kyiv. Very new and modern, especially when compared with the cheap apartment where Strelok now lived, and utterly alien to him after living in the Zone for so long.

The government had given him a job there. Officially, he was a consultant, an expert of the Zone here to share his knowledge. What a fancy name to say the labcoats would grill him with their questions in an effort to understand a place they had never seen in person. But they were paying him more than he expected, so it wasn't that bad. He even had small breaks every hour, like fancy office jobs did. And he spent every single of those breaks outside, smoking by the Institute's entrance. It was a habit he picked up recently, or so Strelok thought. He truly had no idea if he had ever smoked before, although given how he quickly turned it into an essential part of his days, he would say he'd at least been a casual smoker.

Observing Kyiv's busy life going on around him always put him a bit on edge. There were so many people, all of them blissfully unaware of what he'd seen. Of the horrors that lurked not so far away from here. He wanted to spare them that, and if it meant enduring hours of questions day after day, it was a small price to pay to save humanity from the expanding Zone.

"Hey man, I hadn't expected to find you here!"

Turning around to the source of the voice he found himself face to face with Major Degtyarev.

"I could say the same," he was pleasantly surprised to see the Major here. Up until now he hadn't realized how much he missed having anything or anyone remotely familiar around. Ever since coming back Strelok's life had been new and disconcerting. "Are you going to be the new military liaison?"

"Nah, I'm here for a medical exam," Degtyarev sighed dramatically. "They want to see if being exposed to all that weird shit left some permanent sequels."

"If it's any consolation, I also had to go through it." Strelok chuckled darkly. They still wanted to run more tests on him, but he had refused multiple times, and so they eventually gave up.

He took one last drag of the cigarette before throwing it to the ground and followed Degtyarev inside. A group of scientist dressed in their crisp, white coats where talking in one of the corners of the main hall, but it was otherwise empty.

"Nice," Degtyarev whistled in admiration. "Although everything's a bit too white and shiny for my taste."

One of the scientists, a short and plump woman, had left the group and was coming to the front door. She walked in a way that reminded Strelok of a boar about to charge.

"Eh, I suppose it's not bad." Strelok shrugged. He truly didn't give a damn about the building. "I heard the military was going to promote you."

"Mr. Konstantinovich?" The woman politely asked. Strelok moved slightly to the side, not wanting to block her way.

"Oh, that." Degtyarev also moved aside, following Strelok's lead. "Yeah, they want to make me Colonel. I'll accept it, of course, but they're mistaken if they think I'll take a desk job."

"Mr. Konstantinovich," the woman insisted. And still no answer.

"I think that might be you dude," Degtyarev said to him, then graced the woman with a respectful nod.

Strelok whipped around to check if there was somebody behind him, because that was surely a mistake. Then he grimaced when he remember that no, Degtyarev was right, it was him she was waiting for. Apparently his family's name was Konstantinovich, even if he could never remember it for more than five seconds.

"Sorry miss, I don't remember your name." He finally faced her with a sheepish expression.

"It's _doctor_ Nina Yovenko," she corrected him with a glacial voice. "We're ready whenever you are, Mr. Konstantinovich."

"Right, sure." Fuck, he wasn't looking forward to explain his findings on the C-Consciousness project to the top researchers of the Institute. Again.

"Listen, we're both short on time right now," Degtyarev said as he checked his watch. "But I'll be free in about an hour and half. Catch you later, ok? I know a place not very far from here."

He was gone before Strelok had time to say yes, leaving him with the irritated scientist. She didn't say anything else, yet Strelok could almost feel the impatience radiating from her.

"After you, doctor Yovenko." He gestured at her to lead the way, hoping she would take it as a courteous gesture of deference. Truth was Strelok had no idea where he was supposed to go.

#

The bar was the textbook definition of a seedy dive. Cramped and not very clean, badly illuminated and, of course, it boasted an impressive collection of cheap booze on the shelves behind the counter. A dusty TV hung up on the wall, but it was tuned on some random news channel with the sound turned off. The barman was tinkering with an old radio, trying to repair it. This place was so reminiscent of _The 100 Rads_ that Strelok felt like he was back in Rostok. It was only missing the stalkers drinking to forget their days. And some music instead of the incessant crackling of static.

"To Colonel Degtyarev," Strelok raised his beer up and the liquid sloshed wildly inside the bottle. "And all the paperwork and red tape that comes with his new position!"

Degtyarev laughed and raised his beer as well. "And to your newfound name, Mr. Konstantinovich."

"Oh no," he said after taking a generous swig of the beer. "I can tolerate it from the eggheads, but you calling me anything else but Strelok would feel wrong."

"I thought you would be happy to reclaim your identity."

It was a fair point, and also one with a difficult answer. How to explain that this identity didn't feel real, not like the name of Strelok felt real? Hell, he even felt more comfortable being Marked One than when they addressed him as Pavel Konstantinovich. Who was this guy? Not him, that was for sure.

"A name doesn't mean much to me anymore," Strelok downed the rest of his beer. "After the amnesia and everything I just stuck with Strelok because it's shorter than Marked One." That felt weird to acknowledge, so far only Doc had known that Marked One and Strelok were the same person.

Degtyarev admitted he preferred Strelok too, he said it suited him better than Marked One. They fell into a companionable silence while Degtyarev finished his beer.

"Have you remembered anything from your life before the Zone?"

"No." Strelok tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but his success was limited and Degtyarev was looking at him with something too similar to pity. "Nobody's told me anything either. Just that I have no family waiting for me."

He felt uncomfortable venting his frustrations like that. Deep down Strelok was afraid of complaining too much. He didn't want to sound ungrateful, after all it was thanks to the military he was where he was now. And Degtyarev might be friendly with him, but he worked for the government. As far as he knew, Degtyarev's loyalties lay largely with the USS.

"Shit, that's rough dude." Well, at least his sympathy felt genuine. That was enough for Strelok.

#

Meeting up with Degtyarev twice a week for a couple of beers became part of his routine.

Every morning Strelok would wake up after a handful of hours of restless sleep, take a quick shower and change into whatever clothes he found that weren't too rumpled, making a conscious effort to not grab the SEVA suit lying at the bottom of his wardrobe.

Taking the metro to the central district was a tedious journey, and the only thing fuelling him to carry on with another pointless day was the extra strong coffee he swallowed before leaving the apartment.

Once he arrived at the Institute he knew his days could only go two ways: he would either spend hours being questioned about the Zone and then ignored while the scientists talked over him; or he would be up for another battery of tests and a review of how the prescribed meds were working. And when he invariably told them the meds weren't doing shit to help with his memory, they would change his medication again in hopes of getting it right this time.

Afterwards Strelok usually went straight to home, or to the bar with Degtyarev and then back home. The metro ride from Kyiv's centre to downtown was long and mightily uncomfortable. So much people crammed in so little space; and the noise, oh God, the noise. Thousands of people going up and down, chatting, laughing, making noise with their phones... it was almost unbearable. Strelok was used to empty spaces and silence. Even the most populated parts of the Zone were almost empty when compared with Kyiv's metro at rush hours. The uneasiness always persisted until he got to his apartment and closed the door behind him, isolating himself from the world.

His evenings at home were a sad affair. He would eat some of the canned food he compulsively stored and call it a day. Or if Strelok felt like indulging himself he would have some kefir and bread with condensed milk. On a memorable occasion his neighbour had given him a tray of homemade potato salad and he'd wolfed it down in one go. Nonetheless, he tried to avoid Mrs. Kravchenko, who got one look at Strelok and decided to treat him like he was one of her sons. Now, don't get him wrong, she was very nice and affable, but it was so awkward to be mothered by a woman who was almost surely younger than him.

The nights were long and boring. Television was rubbish most of the time, but regular sleeping patterns were something Strelok never got right. Therefore, he spent his nights sprawled on the couch, watching reruns of old series and history documentals until he eventually fell asleep.

Almost four months had passed since he started working at the Institute and nothing had changed. All his days were carbon copies of the previous ones, and they had all blurred together in Strelok's mind. He looked at himself in the mirror as every morning, barely noticing the bags under his eyes anymore, and repeated to himself this was better than staying in the Zone. It had to be.

He was washing his face when he felt his muscles go rigid and his legs gave in. What the fuck was happening? The floor rushed up to him and pain bloomed brightly in his forehead. The last thing he noticed before fainting was the red stain of blood smeared over the sink's edge.

#

The file in front of him had been bothering him since he read it. And now, sitting in the bar while he waited for Strelok to arrive, Degtyarev wasn't so sure he did the right thing.

Look at him, recently promoted to Colonel and what was the first thing he did? He used his newfound influence to acquire a copy of Strelok's restricted file, that's what he did. Degtyarev might work for the government, but he thought Strelok deserved to know what his life had been like, secrecy be damned. He knew the ex-stalker's memories hadn't come back, and they probably never would, so reading about it was the second best option. Of course Degtyarev hadn't even tried to resist the temptation and read the file first.

Real name was Pavel Konstantinovich, as they already knew. His parents died in a car crash when he was nine. Strelok was sent to an orphanage and stayed in the system until he came of age, and then he joined the military. By all accounts he spent eighteen miserable months there since following orders was not his strong suit, or so it was suggested by his rather large disciplinary record. After his military stint he went to Karkhiv and lived there for five months, and then he moved to Donestk for a year. Afterwards he disappeared for another three months, until he was spotted crossing the border to Belarus under the name of Anton Chernov. And that was the end of the personal section. So Strelok had always been a paranoid and slippery bastard, good to know. Then there were the results of the psychological evaluations and medical tests he had since coming back. In Degtyarev's opinion, that part was even more depressing.

He had retrieved the file in the hopes it would motivate Strelok to find an old friend, or a way to reconnect with his old life and stop looking so dead inside. But after reading it he wasn't so sure it would work. The last thing he wanted was to exacerbate his current apathy towards the world. Should he give it to him, or should he keep quiet?

"I see you have begun without me _._ "

Speaking of the devil, here he was. The ex-stalker sat in front of him and signalled the barman to bring him a beer. Even in the poor lightning of the bar, when he turned his head to the side, the fresh cut on his forehead was rather noticeable.

"Shit, what happened to you?"

"I felt like adding some symmetry," Strelok ran his fingers over the old scar on the other side of his head, but that one was barely visible under his hair.

"Did you get in a brawl with one of the scientists? Was it because they asked you to explain blowouts again?" Degtyarev's joke got a small chuckle out of Strelok, but it soon turned into a bitter grimace.

"If only. Epilepsy attack, hit the sink pretty hard on my way down to the floor."

The barman set the beer in the table and they drank in gloomy silence. Eventually Strelok noticed the manila envelope on the side of the table. He did not ask, but he kept looking at it like he was expecting it to burst open on its own. Making up his mind, Degtyarev pushed the envelope in front of him.

"I acquired a copy of your file, thought you might want to have a look."

The look on his face was a painful mix of amazement and surprise, and Degtyarev felt guilty for his earlier thoughts of hiding the file from him.

"Thank you." Strelok touched the envelope reverently. "Won't you get in trouble for that?"

"For this? I don't think so," Degtyarev waved his concerns away.

Appeased by that, Strelok tucked the envelope inside his jacket and relaxed for the first time since he arrived. "Good, good. So, how have you been? Wasn't your brother coming to visit you this week?"

"No. My brother in law," Degytarev was offended at the thought of having that man as his brother. Strelok didn't bother to hide his amusement at Degtyarev's unusual display of disdain. "The moron wanted money to settle a gambling debt."

"And what did you tell him?"

"I might have threatened to dump him in Chernobyl if he didn't solve this mess soon or if he hurt my sister in any way." Degtyarev admitted without regrets. Strelok laughed so hard he snorted beer.

They spent the rest of the evening getting drunk and coming up with scenarios in which to dump Degtyarev's brother in law if he didn't get his act together. Strelok offered to smuggle the moron into the Zone if Degtyarev ever decided to go with it, and he wasn't sure if he was joking or not. Never mind, it was good to know he could count with Strelok's help.

#

He hadn't showered in days. It wasn't that bad, he'd gone far longer without washing while in the Zone. Also, his apartment was starting to look like it had been hit by a hurricane, yet Strelok did not care at all.

He hadn't gone to work in a week and didn't care about that either. His days were spent going from the bed to the couch, eating his dwindling stores of canned food and avoiding answering the phone.

The beginning of Strelok's spiral downwards had been months ago, the day he had the first epilepsy attack. But that was only the start. Then he started losing time. He would be getting dressed and next thing he knew he was in the kitchen putting water to boil. Or he was going to the metro, and then he realised it was half an hour later and he was sitting on a bench in a park with no memories of getting there.

Of course, that was simply fascinating to the scientists, and Strelok had to endure more brain scans and blood tests and questioning, only to be told they had no idea why he was having those lapses. There was no reason for his epilepsy either. So he ended up with no explanation and yet more medication to take daily. Fucking great.

His medical situation also fucked him over in other ways. Strelok had been looking forward to guiding an expedition of the military into the Zone. He wasn't thrilled to be acting as a nanny, but hey, at least he was going to get some time back in the field. He was sick of being cooped up in the Institute. However, after the time lapses and the random epilepsy attacks, he was deemed unfit for the mission. No matter how much he argued, the decision was final. He wasn't going to see the Zone again anytime soon, except maybe in his nightmares.

As if that wasn't enough, weeks later the hallucinations started. One morning he arrived at the Institute, harried and stressed after days of barely sleeping, and saw a bloodsucker emerging from behind the receptionist's counter. Strelok may have reacted violently, throwing a nearby stapler to the ghostly figure and actually hitting an unlucky lab assistant, but in Strelok's opinion having the security guards tackle him to the ground was a bit of an over-reaction. Explaining why he had thrown the damned stapler turned out to be a mistake.

After that incident Strelok's position on the Institute changed from specialist consultant to glorified lab rat. They did not treat him badly, but he was so tired of being a curiosity to study. Apparently that was all he was good for. All his previous help served for nothing, they weren't remotely closer to understanding the Zone, much less to know how to neutralize it. His life since coming back had been just a massive waste of time.

When Strelok was in the Zone he'd thought he wanted to purge it from the world and spare its horrors to everyone else. Now that he was back in the Big Land he missed it more than he ever imagined. Life was funny like that.

The Zone had a certain allure, a simple honesty about its brutality. He missed it. He literally couldn't remember anything else about his life except being a stalker. The file Degtyarev brought him offered no consolation either. He had nothing and no one to tie him here, apparently Strelok had always been a loner.

On his worst moment Strelok had taken out his old Makarov from the bottom of his backpack and contemplated putting an end to it all. He left it on the coffee table for hours, looking at it and thinking about what it would be like to eat a bullet. But he couldn't do it. It felt too cowardly. No, he had a better idea, one that had been hounding him for weeks, no, months. It would require some planning, tough.

The ghostly snork crawling from beneath the table made him remember he hadn't taken his meds in days. It was fine, he wouldn't be taking his pills where he was going either.

#

Just arrived from his last mission the top brass swiftly informed Degtyarev that nobody had seen Strelok for weeks. They hoped _Colonel_ Degtyarev would be able to persuade their wayward consultant to come back to the Institute. Particularly, he couldn't care less about making Strelok come back to the fold, but this total shutdown from Strelok's part worried him. Twenty six attempted calls, and Strelok hadn't bothered to answer any of them. He went on a mission for a few weeks and when he came back he was slapped in the face with yet more problems. Fuck, couldn't he catch a break? He just needed a day off, it wasn't that much to ask for.

However, there was no rest for Degtyarev. So here he was now, in front of one of downtown's typical highrise buildings. The entrance door was wide open and one of the neighbours was mopping the floor. Ignoring the old woman's disapproving glare Degtyarev went up to the fifth floor.

Now if he remembered correctly, Strelok's was the third door. He knocked. No answer. He knocked again, harder and for longer than before. Eventually Strelok showed up to open the door. He looked like he'd been sleeping just before Degtyarev arrived.

"Alexander," He seemed stunned to see him. "What are you doing here?"

"May I come in?" The ex-stalker didn't look worse than any other time, but Degtyarev wasn't appeased just with that.

"Yeah, sure." After an uncomfortably long silence Strelok finally agreed and led him inside, apologising for the mess.

For once that statement was spot on. In the ten months Strelok had been living here it had never been in such a state of disarray. A pile of clothes and blankets threatened to drown the couch, there was a chair on the floor, a mountain of empty cans surrounded a pile of papers on the table, and a sea of empty cigarette packs covered the coffee table. Surprisingly enough there was also a plate with pelmeni, looking freshly made and delicious.

"Didn't know you cooked," Degtyarev grabbed one of the dumplings. Oh yes. They tasted as good as they looked.

"Those are from Mrs. Kravchenko. My cooking is not _that_ good." Strelok admitted, hovering awkwardly near the table. "So did you have a reason for coming, apart from eating my food?"

"What about being worried because you have secluded like an animal in its lair?" Degtyarev asked him, sitting on the couch. "Is that reason enough?"

A certain object on the coffee table caught his attention. Even half buried by trash as it was, he could recognize a Makarov at first glance. Fuck, this was not a good sign.

"Are you here on the Institute's behalf?" Strelok's suspicions were spot on, and also so very wrong.

"Hang the Institute, I'm here because my friend has apparently been missing for days!"

"Oh." Strelok's surprise was almost comical. He picked up the fallen chair and sat down. "I'm fine, really. I just needed some time off."

Degtyarev picked the Makarov with a scowl. "Really?"

Of course Strelok rushed to assure him this wasn't what he thought. Though his nervousness did not put Degtyarev at ease. He'd been planning to do something stupid, Degtyarev was sure. If it wasn't suicide, thank God, then what was he planning?

In a moment of inspiration Degtyarev realised the answer. The weapon, the heavy suit draped over the couch and half hidden under a blanket, the notes and papers scattered around, and even a map over the table; it all became clear.

"You insane idiot, you're going back." It wasn't even a question, no need to ask what was more than evident.

"Alexander, Sasha... You have to understand, I'm going crazy here. The only thing left for me is the Zone."

It was the plea of a desperate and broken man. The Zone was a dangerous place and sooner or later it would eventually succeed in killing you, no matter how careful you were. Degtyarev knew it, Strelok knew it, and all stalkers who survived their first mission out of the rookie camp knew it. And yet Degtyarev understood why Strelok felt like he did. The pull of the Zone was strong, calling you like a siren, always in the back of your mind.

Strelok raised his head and met his eyes. Everything in him spoke of stubborn determination. "I'm not changing my mind. You can try to stop me but–"

"Wasn't thinking to," Degtyarev sighed while leaning back on the couch. And even if he wanted to, he wasn't sure anyone could keep Strelok out of the Zone. Frayed memory or not he knew more about the secrets of the Zone than anyone else. "You know, they're sending me back to the Zone soon."

There was a pregnant pause where Strelok said nothing but looked questioningly at him, no doubt trying to work out why he was telling him that.

"What I mean," Degtyarev continued, "is that once I arrive to Cordon's outpost, they'll all be very busy greeting the newly arrived Colonel. Perhaps busy enough to leave the perimeter unguarded for a few minutes."

"I don't need help, I have my ways of getting in!" Strelok scoffed.

Just as Degtyarev thought he would, nonetheless he felt the need to point out something. "Once someone realizes you've escaped back to the Zone, they'll probably send someone after you."

"Only if they know where to search." Strelok said like it was no big deal.

He didn't seem worried at all, but the name of Strelok was well known in the Zone and tracking a PDA was child's play. However, he supposed Strelok knew what he was doing. After all it wouldn't be the first time someone was after him. Degtyarev wasn't sure what he would do if he was the one assigned to track Strelok down. But that was a worry for the future.

"In that case," Degtyarev got up from the couch, "I say we should get properly hammered, as a send-off."

The stalker smiled relieved and agreed with him. Degtyarev hoped they would see each other again one day.

#

The barbed fence was about twenty meters ahead. It wasn't what Strelok was looking for. Somewhere here, hidden under the tall grass and massive shrubs, there should be the entrance of a tunnel. That was his ticket to freedom.

He'd arrived here with the golden light of dawn, after a night of hitch-hiking rides to get away from Kyiv. It was that or robbing a vehicle, but he didn't know how to drive, so that would prove pointless. Neither of that mattered now. He was finally a few steps away from the Zone and he felt better than he'd felt in months.

The tunnel entrance was behind a curtain of hanging vines and plant's roots. The inside was damp and pitch black, so Strelok turned on the flashlight. You may never know what lay in the dark, waiting for an unsuspecting soul. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, but that didn't mean the way was clear. Strelok threw a bolt and the metallic sound echoed in the tunnel. He listened intently. Apart from the dripping of water nothing else could be heard. Good. It was rare to find mutants or anomalies this close to the border, but not unheard of.

The ground was slippery with mud and moss and the weak light of his flashlight barely breached the inky darkness that surrounded him. The passage got narrower until Strelok had to crawl on his hands and knees, sliding over jagged rocks where the wall had crumbled down. A distant spot of shining daylight acted like a beacon, and Strelok crawled as fast as he could towards it.

When he got out he lay down on a patch of grass and let the sun bathe him. Yes, this was exactly where he was supposed to be. Now it was time to put an end to Strelok's story.

#

A scant week later a Duty patrol came to Yanov bringing Strelok's broken PDA, saying they found it near a whirligig and the vaporised remains of an unlucky stalker. The news spread like wildfire, reaching even the military. The legendary stalker had finally been claimed by the Zone. May he rest in peace.

Coincidentally, that very same day an unknown loner arrived to Yanov Station searching for a technician to fix his PDA. It took Nitro most part of the day to fix it, the PDA had taken some serious damage and most of its pieces had to be replaced. The owner waited patiently at the station, though he preferred to keep to himself like most loners did. No one paid much attention to him, he was a pretty unremarkable traveller who left as soon as his PDA was repaired.

That same evening two stalkers, one with the military and one living in the Great Swamp, received the same message.

_20:49 – Marked One, Loner._

_I'm back! : )_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got two possibilities for Strelok's real name from the wiki, and since I didn't know which one to choose, I used both XD


	12. Trapped - part 1 (Lukash x Voronin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time, I know, but I've been busy (and sometimes just feeling plainly uninspired). But I'm back! Also, in the meantime I posted a couple short things in my writing blog, you can check it out if you want: https://deepseawritings.tumblr.com

If anyone had told him a month ago that he'd be planning an ambush for his own faction, Skull would have killed them for the offense. And yet here he was, near the aptly named bloodsucker village, waiting for his targets to arrive.

To be fair, he wasn't planning to only ambush his _former_ faction. If his plan worked, both Duty and Freedom would fall into his trap. He sort of regretted the inevitable deaths of some of his comrades, in the same nebulous way one can regret not seeing much that one distant relative you don’t completely dislike.

But this way he would finally provoke the full fledged faction war that Voronin was too much of a coward to initiate. Nevermind the barrier, or keeping the bar area safe, and most definitely fuck guarding the scientists at Yantar. Skull was of the opinion they should have recalled all their fighters and razed the Freedom base to the ground the moment they learnt of its location.

His PDA beeped softly and he directed his men to take the assigned positions. The party would start soon. It had been a stroke of good luck to find the corpses of a Dutier and a Freedomer here, both of them with the mission to spy if the mercenaries camped to the north were going to be bribed to fight for the other faction. Joke was on them all, the mercs were definitely for hire if any of them had had the guts to act, like Skull did. Duty might usually frown at mercenaries, but Skull needed to replenish the diminished ranks of his group. Cleaning the village of its bloodsuckers had been a bloody business.

The sound of footsteps on the dry grass grew nearer. The victims were close. Good. The first to arrive to the village was a small Duty squad, four guys plus... oh, wasn't that grand? Looks like the head honcho himself had come to investigate Skull's trap. They did a quick sweep of the place and soon found the dead bodies.

"Sir, I don't like this, it might be a trap," one of the Dutiers said.

"You'd have to be a moron to not notice it," General Voronin looked around warily.

Skull could swear the General spotted one of his mercs, but the Freedomers appeared then and it all went to Hell in a hand basket.

Shouts claiming it was an ambush rose from both contingents, and then Skull's mercs joined them, dressed in Duty and Freedom suits. Chaos ensued. Skull took a moment to admire his work before joining the fight. He would be today's hero, and Voronin would finally acknowledge the merit of Skull's plan to eradicate those Freedom rats.

Everything was going according to his plan until the Monolithians fell upon them like an avalanche. It took them all a bit to notice a new group had joined the shooting, but when they did a fragile truce was instantly born. If there was one thing both factions agreed on, it was their hatred of Monolith. Yet all Skull could see was how his plan was ruined. People who moments ago were trying to kill each other were now focused on the newcomers. Even the mercs had forsaken his orders to create havoc and were now killing Monolithians. This was unacceptable.

Skull started throwing grenades around, not caring who he killed. The cries of outrage and pain were drowned by the gunshots and explosions, and those who hadn't noticed his madness were too busy trying to survive to notice anything else but the ever advancing Monolithians.

#

Coming here had been a mistake, that much was clear. The whole thing reeked of an ambush since the beginning, but Voronin felt obliged to investigate from the moment they received a message asking for reinforcements from the man he sent to investigate the merc situation.

However, he never imagined Freedom would break their stand-still pact in such a way. But here he was, hiding behind a wall while those Monolith lunatics fired against them all. That most probably meant the Barrier had been overrun. Well, Voronin always hoped Freedom and Monolith would decimate each other and save Duty the hassle of dealing with both factions.

He leant out of cover and shot against an approaching Monolithian. The guy took three bullets to the chest to kill, seemingly unaware of his injuries until he just dropped dead. It was unnatural, another proof of the Zone's twisted design.

Someone fired against him, but he saw nobody around actively targeting him. Voronin realised with dismay it was a sniper. The day kept getting worse and worse. The sniper fired again, twice in rapid succession and Voronin desisted to lean out of cover, at least for now.

He heard someone running around, closer and closer, so he took a couple of steps back and readied his Val. Any Monolithian coming around the corner would meet a swift bullet to the face. A man vaulted over the half wall next to this pillar, miraculously evading a shot from the sniper, seemingly unaware of Voronin's presence. He wore one of those detestable green suits, but they all had bigger problems right now than a faction war.

Voronin killed the Monolithian that approached their position, no doubt following the Freedomer. Unnatural resistance or not, headshots were always effective. Then, when the Monolithian lay dead on the ground, he noticed the man hiding behind the broken wall was none other than Lukash himself. Damn, was it too late it to toss him back over? Lukash didn't seem pleased to see Voronin either, less so by the Val pointing at him. He probably feared retaliation for the ambush, and rightly so.

However, if there's an instant, albeit temporal, remedy for mutual hate, it was without doubt being under fire by a common enemy. A bullet impacted against this side of wall, dangerously close to them. The sniper had moved to a new location, or maybe it was another guy, who knew. A quick sweep of the surroundings offered only one possibility: getting inside the house and start sniping back.

He started running towards the entrance, only to be violently shoved to the side as Lukash sprinted ahead. The treacherous rat truly hadn't a shred of morals or honour. He ran like his life was on it, catching up with Freedom's leader, and pushed him forward. Lukash fell face first to the ground and Voronin kept running. Petty vengeance could be sweet sometimes.

He stopped at the entrance of the ruined house, barely inside it. Right in front of him there was a shimmering bubble of air, warping everything around it.

Unaware of the anomaly, Lukash ran towards the safety, evading the sniper’s efforts to kill him. He crashed against Voronin's back and sent them both toppling forward. And into the space anomaly.

#

His vision wavered for a second before going back to normal. Fuck, that was disorienting.  Why was everything so dark all of sudden?

He extricated himself from the tangle on the ground and got up. If he didn't kick Voronin in the back it was because he realized something was so very wrong. Just a moment ago they were barely inside a house on the bloodsucker village, not very far from their base. And now he was in some sort of dark tunnel someplace he'd never seen before.

"Fool! Do you realise what you've done?" Voronin regarded him with contempt and Lukash nearly punched him in the face.

"You have the gall to blame me for this?" He hissed with furious disbelief. Really? The bastard first ambushed him and now _he_ was to blame?

Voronin snorted derisively. "If not willingly at least through sheer idiocy, but yes."

Anger seized him and Lukash raised his GP-37. Never one to make things easy, Voronin raised his Val and soon they were aiming at each other's faces, looking for an excuse to shoot.

A high pitched howl dragged along the far end of the corridor. They both turned their heads to the sound, slowly, as if unwilling to see what made such noise. Almost slow enough to get hit by the dented barrel hurtling across the air.  Almost.

They both ducked to the sides, pressing against the cold concrete walls, and the barrel crashed loudly against the spot they occupied not long ago. The metallic clang was loud like a bomb in the otherwise dead silent corridor.

The air around them got a faint bluish tinge and felt strangely charged. The hair of his arms stood on end, like under the effect of static electricity. But no matter how much Lukash inspected the far reaches of the corridor, he saw nothing. It was too dark and the torchlight didn’t reach that far.

A floating ball of light appeared in the distance, and Lukash had to duck to avoid taking a wooden crate to the face. The crate thankfully sailed over his head and then smashed into the ground, breaking like an overripe fruit.

While he was busy dodging the flying crate, Voronin shot at the creature with his Val. From this distance it was difficult to tell if he shot landed or failed, but either way the poltergeist flew away. They waited for a bit, in case the poltergeist came back and hurled more trash at them. Lukash strained his hearing, but the only noise was the squeaking of emergency light right above them. It was safe to say they were alone. For now.

"I'm outta here," Lukash said aloud. It came as a surprise when Voronin agreed and followed him. Look at that, he was capable of being reasonable after all.

He checked his PDA, but apart from showing the hour -four pm- it wasn't doing much. The messaging system wasn't working, and the GPS function was similarly going crazy, marking his position erratically all over the Zone. Judging by Voronin's displeased grunt, his was also not working as it should. Perhaps the anomaly broke some electronic component, or something was blocking the signal. Either way their only hope was to go blindly ahead, and pray the exit was on one of the corridor's ends.

After turning around a corner there was yet another long and dark corridor, exactly like the one behind them. With also a dented barrel and pieces of smashed wood littering the floor. All of that in the exact same spot under the emergency light.

"How the fuck is this possible?" He angrily asked Voronin. It was doubtful the Dutier could provide an answer, but Lukash needed to vent out his frustration.

"It shouldn't be possible," Voronin was obviously displeased as well, glaring at him like he was on the verge of blaming Lukash for this as well.

Hoping to be wrong, Lukash sprinted along the corridor, leaving Voronin behind when he turned around the corner. And a second after that he was again staring at the same corridor, and the Dutier was now in front of him.

"Better try going the other way," Voronin started walking towards the other end of the corridor. "With a little luck the poltergeist can show us a way out of this corridor."

"With a little luck the next flying object will be aimed at your head," Lukash grumbled in a hushed whisper, but the sound carried clearly in the reigning silence.

However, Voronin did not rise to the bait; he just snorted disdainfully and kept going.

The corridor ended in a barely lit staircase, the emergency light was broken and the only source of light was the sickly glow of the fruit punch anomaly on a corner. A set of stairs went to the upper floor, and another one descended into the pitch black confines of the lower level. The question now was: up or down?

The Dutier decided to go upstairs. It made sense. The exit of underground facilities usually was on the top level. The upper floor consisted of a single room, and a massive metal door blocked the only exit. Although, as it was soon discovered, it was impossible to open. No matter how much they tried to move the wheel, it was firmly stuck in place.

"There's a number pad there," Lukash spotted a small console at the side of the door. He went closer to it and sighed. "Nevermind, it's broken."

"Even if it worked, without the code we could only try blindly and, supposing it was a four digit code, there are about..."

"About 9000 possible options, I know." Voronin was looking strangely at him and it was making him uncomfortable. "What?"

The Dutier just shook his head lightly. "We have no other choice but to go downstairs."

#

The lower floor was, like the looping corridor, lit by the flickering orange glow of the emergency lights. The damp smell of decay clung to the air, heavy and smothering. Voronin always thought of it as the smell of death.

There was a main room, and two doorways. One led to what looked like an empty storage closet. The other gave way to another corridor, but someone or something had pushed a pair of tables in front of it, creating a makeshift barricade.

The Freedomer tried to move one of the tables and promptly left it be. "These metal tables are heavy. Whoever put them here _really_ wanted to block the way."

"Didn't do them any good," Voronin pointed out.

A dark brown track was painted on the floor, like a trail of dry blood, going down into the corridor. Poltergeists couldn't do that. Smash things against you, yes; dragging your bloody ass down the corridor, no.

"Who knows how old this is, the mutant could be already dead or dying," Lukash apparently felt the need to fill the silence.

"Dying to eat us, most probably," he corrected Lukash's foolish hopes.

"Who knew you were such an optimist," the Freedomer deadpanned.

Between both of them the table was dragged back a bit, leaving just enough space for them to cross the otherwise barred threshold. The corridor here was pitch black, the only emergency light in sight was broken in pieces, and the torchlights were necessary.

The track of dried blood continued up to the first room to the right, where it went into the room. The metal door was ajar. Lukash kicked it open and the door clashed loudly against the wall. Voronin cursed him and all his ancestry. Nice way to give away their position to any mutants lurking around.

The room reeked of rotted meat, one needn't be a genius to know what they would find inside. A quick sweep with the torchlight revealed a pile of bones and decomposing remains. It was difficult to tell if all the remains were just from one body or two, but ultimately it did not matter. A dull noise, coming from further down the corridor, startled them both.

The dark passage was empty, and yet something resembling a deranged laugh was coming from the room at the end. Once they got closer the laughter stopped, instead it became a shrill cry, like a banshee. Once they got into the room a broken chair started levitating over their heads.

"Fucking poltergeists," Lukash muttered, eyeing the chair warily.

On the other hand, Voronin was too busy surveying the room to stop and gawk at the floating chair. The poltergeist was somewhere close and he wouldn't let the it escape again. The cry was coming from behind a door with a faded bathroom sign painted on it.

Before he could decide to open the door, it swung open and a blast of energy sent Voronin flying back.

#

He didn't see exactly see what happened, only that one second Voronin was investigating around, and the nest second he was thrown against the other wall. The previously floating chair crashed on the floor as well.

A stunted humanoid mutant wearing a black trench coat came from behind the previously closed door. They had grossly miscalculated the situation. Lukash shot at it, but the Burer blocked the bullets effortlessly. The Burer lowered his gnarled hands, and a wave of energy hit him, knocking the wind out of him.

While he was trying to regain his breath, the Burer moved again and sent his GP-37 flying away. He tried to retreat, or get his pistol out, but he felt sluggish and winded. Another hit of energy like that could break his bones, or get him a ruptured artery, he'd seen it happen before.

Voronin appeared behind the Burer and stuck his knife in the mutant's neck, twice. The mutant yelled and tried to dislodge him, but he stabbed it again, twisting the knife in. A flow of dark blood ran down the Burer's front, drenching the ratty trench coat. Slowly, the Burer dropped down to the floor. Meanwhile Lukash finally got his pistol out and shot at the mutant's head.

"In case you couldn't tell despite all that blood, it was already dead," Voronin informed him in the most patronizing voice he ever had the displeasure to hear.

Lukash gritted his teeth and tucked his pistol away. "Just making sure this one doesn't get up ever again."

So what if he wanted to release his frustration shooting at a dead mutant? It was better than acknowledging the Dutier probably saved him from a gruesome injury.

"Should have stayed at the base. First the fucking ambush and now this damn bunker and its fucking mutants..." Lukash muttered to himself while he picked back his GP-37 from the floor.

However, Voronin heard him perfectly, even if he was half the room away. The sound carried clearly in the heavy silence of the dark bunker.

" _You_ complain about the ambush, you dirty bastard?" The Dutier nearly spat at him. "It must be real hard work tracking our movement and mobilise your men to fall onto us, eh?"

Lukash saw red and seriously contemplated murder. "What the hell are you talking about? You were the ones waiting for us! It was one of your men who opened fire first, we only retaliated!"

"How can have the gall to say that? We arrive there in answer to a frankly suspicious message from a man that was _dead_ and after a moment you conveniently arrive with a heavily armed squad."

"Oh, poor little Dutiers, lemme cry you a river," Lukash lost the last thread of his patience. He was sick of Voronin's attitude and bullshit. "How about you stop lying for a second? I received a message from one of my boys, saying he needs reinforcements now, and when we arrive he's dead and you have taken positions over the village and start shooting at us."

"Why you little –"

Their argument was suddenly broken by a thumping sound coming from behind them.

#

The metallic noise repeated, like someone tapping on the pipes or knocking on a door. It was no Morse code, at least not as far as Voronin could tell. So it stood to reason it was the damn poltergeist again, mocking him.

Without speaking a word to Lukash, he braved the dark corridor once more. There was a persistent feeling of being observed, and yet they were the only ones around.

The sound grew more intense the closer he got to a door he had ignored during their chase of the poltergeist-that-wasn't. The door rattled alarmingly once more and swung open before them.

Lukash raised his rifle and, despite his contempt for the Freedomer, for once he approved of his actions. No filthy mutant would catch them unaware now.

However, there was nothing behind the opened door, except for darkness and yet more corridor. Treading carefully, they advanced. The torchlight’s’ beam pierced feebly through the darkness until they arrived to another room illuminated by a yellowish emergency light. Although that wasn't what drew their attention.

A wispy purple bubble pulsed in the middle of the room, right beneath where the ceiling had collapsed. This... Voronin had never before seen something like this.

"D'you think the, uh, _anomaly_ made this?" Lukash asked, looking at the hole from which they could see the upper floor.

Forgetting their mutual distaste in the face of this new anomaly, Voronin pointed to a skeleton lying in the pile of rubble inside the mysterious bubble. "I don't know, but I wouldn't get too close."

"Only one way to know," Lukash said with forced cheer before throwing a bolt at it.

The bolt made a perfect arc, fell right into the anomaly and floated there, suspended mid-air.

"Doesn't seem to do anything dangerous," the Freedomer concluded with a shrug.

And that was, in Voronin's humble opinion, why so many Freedomers usually found themselves with the water up to their neck. It was a mix of lack of foresight and not thinking things through. The anomaly didn't do anything flashy, like when whirligigs exploded, but it could be dealing other kinds of damage that were harder to see.

"A bolt is not a person," Voronin reminded him.  "But at least we know it won't rip us to shreds."

All the good will he could have towards the anomaly quickly disappeared when the purple limits of it expanded until it occupied almost all the room. And now they were inside the anomaly.

The bolt Lukash threw before suddenly dropped to the ground. They weren't levitating either. Aside from a dull buzzing from their dosimeters, indicating a small uptick of the radiation, nothing was happening.

"We could climb to the upper floor," he eventually suggested.

It seemed to be the only path they hadn't explored yet, and the rubble created a convenient slope to climb. But the closer he got to the hole in the ceiling, the more and more tired he felt. The radiation kept stable, though.

The pile of rubble was more unstable than he imagined. His tiredness only seemed to grow and, after a quick look to check, he was sure he wasn't the only one affected. The Freedomer moved slowly and carelessly, which caused him to misstep and nearly fall down. Climbing to the upper floor was quite the struggle, a seemingly never-ending struggle.

Because of their clumsy attempts to climb one of the pieces of rubble was wrenched free and slid down the pile, destabilizing the rest of it. They both fell down, Voronin landing quite ungracefully on his ass while Lukash rolled down like tumbleweed. It wasn't that much of a climb, Voronin reflected from his position on the ground, but right now it seemed an insurmountable obstacle. Didn't help either that he felt like he hadn't slept for days.

"If you hoist me up I think I can get to the upper floor."

Voronin's first reaction was to say no. But he was out of ideas, except that he was sure being too much time inside this anomaly would kill them by exhaustion. So he grudgingly agreed to hoist Lukash up.

The Freedomer's weight felt like he was supporting a giant boulder instead of a man, and he grunted at Lukash to hurry the fuck up. A hail of dust and small pieces of rubble fell on his head, making him sneeze and his eyes itch. But then the weight was literally lifted off him, thank goodness. With the other man's help Voronin finally managed to get up the debris pile and climb into the upper floor.

From what he could see, this floor was exactly like the others, except with more burnt fuzz growing on the walls of this dilapidated office. The rapid flickering of the emergency light irritated him enough to miss the darkness of the corridor from before.

At least the edge of this weird purple bubble was near, he was exhausted like he'd ran a marathon after another. The anomaly didn't feel as innocuous as Lukash proclaimed it to be. Just as they dragged themselves out of  confines of the anomaly both torchlights suddenly died, and the frantic flickering of the emergency lamp went down to a more normal rhythm. Weird. The tiredness did not abate, Voronin noticed.

Perhaps that's why he made a beeline for the mouldy couch on a corner of the office. He just needed a moment to catch his breath, that was all.

Lukash looked hesitant for half a second before he plopped down on the other end of the couch. "Sometimes you have good ideas."

"Unlike you, you mean," Voronin clarified. "The anomaly seems harmless my ass."

"Didn't kill us, right? Only the torches." The Freedomer patted his pockets in search of something. "Fuck, I'm out of batteries."

He took out the PDA, presumably to use its battery for the torchlight, and stared at its screen with his mouth open like a gaping fish.

"Which date is it?" It was an odd question, but it was the Freedomer's strangled voice what made him uneasy. "Which is the damn date!"

"It’s the thirtieth of May," Voronin failed to see the relevance of the date, but the Freedomer seemed to think it mattered.

Lukash let out a hollow chuckle and now Voronin was starting to worry the Freedomer had gone off the deep end.

"Nope, it's the second of June." He let the information sink in before continuing in a panicked whisper, "What the hell happened in that room?"

That wasn't possible. At all. At most they spent fifteen minutes there, probably much less. A gloomy silence fell between them as Voronin took his time to face the truth. Either the PDA was broken or it was all the anomaly's fault. Voronin would bet his hand on the later. If time was slower inside the purple bubble that would explain the odd details, like the exhaustion, and the lights strange behaviour. Sakharov's team would be delighted by this discovery but all it inspired in him was dread.

However, the last thing he wanted now was to think in the Zone's ability to toy with the flow of time. Voronin closed his eyes and sighed. That felt nice, he was so tired.

#

_It was cold. He noticed it without opening his eyes yet._

_Olga must have fallen asleep and forgot to put more logs in the hearth. He could in fact feel her pressed against his side, burrowing into his warmth. He loved their quiet afternoons at home, when they would inevitably fall asleep before a roaring fire and wake up with enough time to have a round of lazy sex before going to dine with her sister and brother-in-law._

_Any moment now Olga would wake up. Then she would then straddle him and --_

And then he remembered Olga had divorced him and left years ago, sadly telling him that his commitment to the military surpassed his commitment to her. He was now married to the Zone, and to Duty.

It all came back in a rush, the dark bunker and its time warping anomaly. He must have fallen asleep in that disgusting excuse of a couch. And the person draped over him... Voronin finally opened his eyes and saw that yes, the person curled against him and with an arm thrown over his waist was none other than Lukash.  He shoved the Freedomer off of him. Lukash landed on the dusty floor and woke up startled.

"Wha- what happen'd," he slurred, still half asleep and disoriented.

Voronin regarded his confusion with a small swell of vindictive amusement, yet he quickly schooled his face in a disapproving scowl. "We fell asleep."

"And that's bad?"

In normal circumstances it wouldn't be, no. But he was wary of the effects the time warping anomaly might have in them. Besides, Voronin was irritated by their current situation, and for finding the Freedomer sleeping all over him. "I suppose that for an undisciplined oaf like you it isn't."

"Aw, you tell me the prettiest things," the Freedomer grunted moodily as he got up from floor.

After a meagre snack of stale bread, conducted in tense silence and full of angry glares at each other, they were finally ready to face the dark corridors of this floor.

It turned out to be pretty damn similar to what they had seen so far: more empty rooms, more dust, and more scattered emergency lights that barely illuminated anything. Voronin was down to his last battery for the torchlight, and Lukash was out of luck because PDA batteries were vastly different from the ones used on torches.

He wasn't very happy about how the Freedomer hovered near him, but he supposed leaving him behind to find the way for himself would hardly be decent. After all they had more possibilities to get out if they cooperated, no matter how grudgingly they did so. Plus, he didn't want to risk getting shot in the back.

The dreary atmosphere of the place did nothing to alleviate his slowly growing irritation. He'd woken in a bad mood, still tired and with a headache that only went to worse the longer he stayed awake.

He was slightly distracted when they found a room resembling a half-dismantled lab. There was a lot of big equipment he catalogued as junk, mainly because he couldn't begin to imagine its purpose, and a lone computer gathering dust in a desk against the wall.

Lukash mood brightened considerably when he saw the computer. "Oh yeah, let the expert work on that!"

"Expert?"

The Freedomer grinned widely while cleaning the cobwebs hanging over the screen. "Hacking was my main hobby before, in the Big Land. Can't say I'm a pro, but once I managed to modify my energy bill. And no one noticed! Well, later I learned they did, but actually..."

Voronin closed his eyes stopped paying attention. His head felt like he got sand scratching his brain. There was a buzzing in his ears, or maybe it was an echo of Lukash's inane prattle. How in the Lord's name could he be so cheerful? Wasn't his head killing him too?

"Huh," the Freedomer finally shut up, thank God. "All the files are encrypted. Or maybe just very messed up, the system is heavily corrupted."

"Forget it," Voronin told him. It was unlikely they would find the key out of this place in a broken computer.

"Nah, I can try to –"

"I said forget it," he said much curter than before. Didn't Lukash see this was a waste of time? They should be looking for a way out, not playing with broken junk.

"I don't follow your orders," the Freedomer snapped. "And I think this could be interesting."

In other circumstances Voronin might have agreed with him, but the constant sensation of sand in his brain, and the strange greyed colours at the edge of his vision's field, had him at the brink of screaming in frustration. And Lukash answer made him explode.

"Then stay. And find the way out on your own." Voronin made up his mind, he was going his way and Lukash was welcome to spend as much time with the computer as he liked. If he could even see it in the dark. Then an insidious thought irrupted in his mind through the headache, "And if you try to ambush me ever again I'll gut you like a fish."

"You can go fuck yourself!" Lukash yelled in anger.

The Freedomer kept yelling nonsense at him, but Voronin was already on the doorway and ignored him. Leaving Lukash behind was invigorating, now if his headache vanished he'd truly be a happy man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 will be updated as soon as I finish the editing, which can be in a few hours or tomorrow.


	13. Trapped - part 2 (Lukash x Voronin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be slow to write and edit, but I said the second part would be up in a few hours or tomorrow, so here it is.

Fucking Dutier and his holier-than-thou attitude.  Good riddance to him and his chronic sourness, and to the endless accusations that were driving Lukash mad.

He continued messing with the damaged computer, illuminated only by the glare of the screen. He hummed as he worked. Despite the appearances, it wasn't a happy or contented hum. He was doing it for the same reason he started talking before: noise helped mask the buzzing in his head. It was really annoying, like having a mosquito following you all the time. So he hummed and talked to himself, hoping it soon would go away.

" _Dancing on the ashes of the world, I behold the stars_... c'mon you piece of shit... _Heavy gale is blowing to my face_... dammit!"

Maybe it was time to accept his hacking skills weren't up to the task. Or that the hard drive was corrupt beyond salvation.

Accepting defeat, he turned the computer off. The screen's light faded out of existence and the room was left in almost total darkness. There was one of the ever present emergency lights out on the corridor, but only a weak glow arrived inside the abandoned lab room. Blind in the shadows, Lukash stubbed his toe against the table's leg. Shit!

"Damn battery consuming anomaly," Lukash grunted while blindly rummaging his backpack, thinking on what he could use as a source of light. "Ah, right!"

The lighter, of course. Its flame was a poor substitute for the torchlight, but it was better than nothing. A loud noise followed by muffled shots came from somewhere far away. Looked like Voronin found a welcome party. Awesome, that meant less mutants Lukash would have to deal with.

He went to the dimly lit entrance of the room and into another corridor, which was blocked by an erratic electro. Thank goodness this could be bypassed simply throwing a bolt.

But his headache was killing him, the buzz getting louder and louder, like static in his mind, and he botched the timing between throwing the bolt and crossing. To avoid getting shocked he threw himself against the wall. To his luck, he fell against a door that burst opened under the sudden impact. The lighter’s flame was snuffed and his shoulder would develop a bruise the size of a mountain, but he was fine. Lukash re-lit the small flame of the lighter and decided to explore the place.

Getting lost in the small maze of interconnecting rooms was surprisingly easy, especially because all those rooms looked basically the same. But in the end he made it back to the corridor. The electro was behind him now, for which he was grateful. And further ahead the long corridor he glimpsed a hunched figure standing still in the semi darkness.

"Voronin?"

Had the Dutier lost his mind, stopping in the middle of the corridor in the dark like that? His eyes hurt from straining his vision in these conditions, and he saw everything blurry and greyed. His headache worsened considerably too. And the more he approached Voronin the more he felt something wasn't right.

The figure finally turned around, slowly. It most definitely wasn't Voronin. It wasn't even human anymore. A deformed face flashed in front of him, despite the fact neither of them had moved an inch. Reality spun wildly like a rollercoaster and Lukash nearly fell to his knees overwhelmed. Thinking was difficult, and reaching the GP-37 slung on his back proved to be a titanic effort since he barely knew what was up or down anymore. But he screwed his shut and focused on getting the weapon in his hands.

He succeeded, all the while the mutant's hideous mug flashed behind his closed eyes. Hoping he was gripping the rifle correctly -and not about to shoot himself- he opened fire. The accuracy left something to be desired, but at least he hit the mutant. The Controller either didn't realise it had been shot or didn't care, since it kept doing its weird mental voodoo.

Lukash wasted the whole clip on the Controller and when the ammo ran out, instead of reloading, he just took out his pistol and finished the job. He knew when the Controller died because he stopped feeling like someone put his brain on a blender. The pain stopped but his ears were still ringing and his vision was blurred. Oh God, this was way worse than the evilest of hangovers, everything kept spinning. Lukash sat on the floor while the world around him righted itself.

Slowly but surely he was getting better. Except for his vision, which had gone from blurry to unbearably bright. Fuck, it was like staring at a light bulb.

"Can you hear me?"

So he was actually staring at a light bulb. Sort of. "Get that damn thing out of my face!"

The torchlight's beam was redirected away from his eyes and Voronin even offered him a hand to get up. It was suspiciously nice of him.

"Oh, did you miss me? That's why you came back?" He swatted the hand away and got up on his own after picking up his rifle.

Voronin's answer was a sound of disgust mixed with annoyance. And yet he refrained from starting another of their vicious arguments.

"While you played with the computer I found more Burers. Killed one but the other smashed a barrel against me and escaped." Coming from Voronin that was as good as admitting he felt guilty, maybe even worried, by having left him behind to fend for himself.

But Lukash wanted an apology, damn it, so he pushed him further. "And you stumbled into me by coincidence, I'm sure."

The Dutier clenched his jaw and made a face like he swallowed a lemon. And then he surprised Lukash.

"Abandoning you in the dark was a bit extreme, I suppose I shouldn’t have lost my patience like that. I just couldn't think straight in that moment."

"I think this once it's understandable," Lukash kicked the Controller, making sure it was dead for good. "Man I hate Controllers and their ability to mess with people’s minds."

Voronin's answer was a stiff nod and an awkward silence fell upon them, neither sure of what to do after their little show of civility. Of course, Lukash broke it first, and with a rather unfortunate joke.

"Now we just have to agree about who ambushed who and we're as good as friends."

Talk about putting your feet on your mouth. Voronin gave him a hard look, clearly conveying the idea he thought him an idiot, and walked away, although at a slow enough pace that gave Lukash ample opportunity to catch up with him.

They walked in silence for a while, the torchlight's beam weakly illuminating the way. Lukash wondered if Voronin had an idea of where were they going, or if he simply went down the corridor because it was the easiest path.

"I think I may have an inkling about whose fault the ambush was," the Dutier said out of the blue when they reached a fork in their path. To the left there was a dead Burer slumped in the middle of the way. Vorornin went to the right. "And if I'm right I'll skin the son of a bitch alive"

"Ha, so he was one of yours!" Being proven right was amazing, more so when the admission came from the dour Duty General.

"He hasn't been one of mine for quite some time now," Voronin replied bitterly.

A deserter then. Probably someone with a grudge against his ex-faction, Lukash guessed.

They arrived to another big room full of old junk. Another lab presumably, like the one where they had their spat before going separate ways. A dark heap lay on the middle of the room.

They approached cautiously, until they were close enough to see it was a dead Burer. Must be the one that escaped from Voronin. Maybe he wounded it before it got away? Except, Lukash noticed with alarm, this one had the throat ripped open. Bullets didn't do that.

There was a single warning growl and fear doused him like an iced bucket of water. Then he saw a pair of malevolent yellow eyes too close to his face and pain bloomed on his chest. The bloodsucker clawed him from clavicle to hip and Lukash stumbled back. Voronin shot the mutant as soon as it became visible, drawing its attention away from Lukash. The bloodsucker turned around and jumped at the Dutier, attaching its tentacled maw on his neck with frightening efficiency. Lukash watched in sick fascination as the bullet wounds on its back slowly healed as the mutant drank blood, the flesh knitting back together in a scarred lump.

His rifle did nothing when he tried to shoot the mutant off of Voronin. Shit, he hadn't reloaded it since his encounter with the Controller! Mentally kicking himself for such a rookie mistake, he ditched the GP-37 in favour of the pistol, which he hoped still had some bullets in the clip. Unnatural regeneration ability or not, surviving a point blank range headshot was really difficult. Just to be sure, Lukash shot again. The creature went flaccid like a ragdoll and its mouth tentacles released its hold over Voronin's throat. The Dutier wasted no time in pushing the body away from him.

Even in the half-light of the room Lukash could see the wound on Voronin's throat with more detail he ever wanted. They needed to stop the bleeding right now. He started to frantically search in his bag. Fuck, and double fuck! Where were the bandages?! Or the Vinca, or... His hand closed around a soft bundle and he sighed in relief. Lukash shoved almost the entire roll of bandages in the wound and pressed hard, while still searching for the Vinca pills with his other hand. He would also need more bandages.

"Press here." He dragged Voronin's hand over the improvised patch and pressed it down hard until the Dutier winced in pain.

Lukash grabbed the fallen torchlight, because his blind search wasn't going that well, and for the first time saw the blood stain over his chest. At least he didn't feel much pain now, although that could be an effect of the adrenalin surge. He popped a Vinca pill and hoped it would be enough; he had a far more urgent wound to deal with.

#

He felt like something had tried to chew a piece of his neck off. His hand was still pressing down what felt like a mountain of bandages, and God it hurt. Being bitten by a bloodsucker usually was at the bottom of the list of survivable mutant attacks, usually because the bastards gorged themselves on their victims without restraint, and for the first time Voronin was really fucking glad for Lukash's presence. He tried to get up and the effort sent his head spinning, so he quickly sat down again.

"Ugh, water." Voronin wasn't sure if he said that aloud or not. But he must have, since Lukash materialised at his side with a canteen.

"How are you feeling?"

He grunted and drank more water. Was it really necessary to ask such stupid question? Lukash kept talking, seemingly unable to keep quiet for long.

"I think we managed to stop the bleeding, but if I were you I’d keep pressing down a little longer." Lukash tried to appear unconcerned, but he failed miserably.

Returning the canteen, Voronin looked at him and frowned at the dark stain covering his chest. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, just a scratch from our bloodsucking friend," Lukash waved his hand in a clearly dismissive gesture.

"If that's just a scratch then my neck wound is just a love bite," Voronin couldn’t keep the disapproval out of his voice. His wound was probably massive too, and he looked tired and drawn. Not like Voronin himself didn’t look any better, though, sitting on the floor and slumped against the wall to keep upright.

Ignoring his own injury, Lukash sat next to him and dragged his bag closer. He took a medkit out of the backpack and told Voronin he was going to take out the bloodied gauze and fix a proper dressing for the wound. Thankfully there was no more bleeding when he removed the ball of bandages.

"Seems like the bloodsucker didn't nick anything important when it gave you this hickey," even so, Lukash grimaced when the wound was uncovered. The resulting scar would be huge. "You're one lucky bastard."

The process of applying the butterfly stitches was unpleasant, the edges of the bite wound were pretty sensitive to being pinched together like that. Voronin schooled his face in a blank mask. The sooner Lukash was done with this the better.

The final dressing covering his neck was a bit shoddy and had a bit too much gauze, but Voronin didn't mind. After all, it's not like he would have done it better. He slowly got up. "Good. Now strip."

He didn't expect Lukash's startled laugh, though perhaps his choice of words hadn't been the most appropriate. "What? Isn't that a bit forward from your part?"

After mentally counting to ten, and fixing him with an unamused stare, he answered. "You know what I mean. Have you taken care of your own wound?"

"I took a Vinca pill? It didn't look as bad as your neck, you know?"

Okay, point taken. And yet that was no excuse. As they soon discovered, the dried blood made the clothing stick to the wound and water was necessary to peel it off without making the 'scratch' bleed again. He'd also been lucky, Voronin noticed. The slash went from his clavicle to mid chest, where it curled around his ribs and went down almost to the hip. With a little more force and with only a slightly different trajectory the bloodsucker could have easily gutted him.

"Hmm, I don't think you'll need stitches," was Voronin's verdict.

"Dude, you probably do. Proper stitches I mean, not the flimsy paper ones I used," Lukash admitted a touch worriedly. "But I'm afraid I'd make a butchery out of it."

"Yes, no offense but I don't think I'd let you try."

"Fair enough." Lukash seemed in an awful good mood. "Look at us, being nice to each other. Someone could even think we're friends!"

"I wouldn't take it that far." He slumped back again, searching the support of the wall. Damn, he tired so easily now. But they couldn’t afford to sit on their asses for long.

At Voronin's insistence, they soon retook the exploration of this place, but at a slower pace than usual. The rest of the rooms were pretty uninteresting: another lab, an empty room, a dormitory without a single mattress in the bunks. It was on this last one they found a dusty protective suit with an unknown badge sewn on it. It looked old and worn, but Lukash seized the opportunity to change his slashed suit for this one. Meanwhile he searched the rest of the lockers.

"How does it look?" The Freedomer asked, waving at his new ensemble. "Do I pass for an ecologist?"

"More like a merc. I don't think I've ever seen an ecologist in a blue suit." The suit had a greyish faded hue actually, but it could be guessed which colour it had originally been. "C'mon there's nothing else here."

Such affirmation could be broadly applied, as they soon learnt. The corridor led them to another infinite loop, like the one they found right after arriving. And the only other unexplored room turned out to be empty except for a badly rusted ladder going up to a hatch.  With much regret, Voronin had to admit he didn't feel up to the task of climbing up the ladder; this slow crawl through the rooms had been taxing enough. And Lukash readily agreed when he proposed to rest for a bit before investigating where did the ladder lead.

Finding no suitable place but the floor, Voronin sat down and sighed heavily as he turned off the torchlight. No need to waste their only battery when the room was lit by faint glow coming from the corridor. Although that made searching what he wanted a tad more difficult.

"Anything you want in exchange for one of those?" Lukash looked at the painkillers in his hand with hopeful eyes. His ‘simple scratch’ must hurt worse than he admitted.

He traded it for a can of energy drink. Perhaps not the best trade, but he was going to need a little pick me up to keep the pace, he felt drained and sluggish. They took their painkillers and enjoyed a bit of rest while he drank the energy drink, and then got moving.

The ladder wobbled under their weight and creaked ominously, but it endured. The nasty surprise came when they reached the end of the ladder. No matter how much force it was applied, the hatch’s door wouldn't budge. Both of them tried opening it, all to no avail.

Ten minutes later they had to face the truth: they were back like they started, with no way out of the bunker. A desperate need to have a glimmer of hope ensued, and they started to list all the places explored, in the hopes of noticing something they could have overlooked. Lukash carried a notebook and a pencil in his backpack, so they started drawing a map of the whole place cobbled from their memories.

About an hour later they had a very nice map and no idea of what to do next.

"Maybe we should sleep, take on this tomorrow with a fresh perspective." It was sound advice and Voronin had no choice but to agree.

So, deciding this room was as good as any other place, Voronin took out the sleeping bag and went to sleep in sullen silence. Neither of them thought about setting up a watch. According to their map they had explored every place that was accessible, and killed every mutant in their way.

#

Quiet sobs woke him in the dead of the night. Well, Lukash supposed it was night, but he had no idea what time it truly was.

Voronin was snoring loudly, so he wasn't the one making those sobs. Not like crying seemed to be his style. Was he imagining things? The crying got louder and Lukash was pretty sure it wasn't a hallucination. Then it hit him like a revelation: it must be the damn poltergeist! As far as he knew they hadn't been able to kill it yet, the sneaky bastard just floated away and they forgot about it. Well, this ended now.

He grabbed his pistol, made sure it was loaded, and set off in search of the damn mutant. Following the sound of crying he arrived to the dormitory room where he found his new suit. A thin figure stood hunched in the shadows behind one of the bunks. Whatever it was, it seemed to have its back towards him. Nevertheless, remembering the encounter with the Controller, he preferred to be cautious. Aiming to its head with the pistol, he used his other hand to throw a bolt at it. Nothing. Slowly, he got closer to see what it was. Could poltergeist adopt a form that wasn't a floating ball of energy?

The mysterious figure turned out to be a skeleton dressed in a ragged lab coat. And it was hovering a few inches above the floor. The floating skeleton suddenly lurched forward and Lukash shot it by pure instinct. The bones fell on him, gracelessly scattering upon the impact. And a second later the emergency light shattered in a thousand pieces, leaving Lukash in total darkness.

Why did these kind of things happen to him, and where the fuck was his lighter? He patted all his pockets in search of it, praying he hadn't stuffed it into the backpack. Just as he found it and grabbed it, something cold breathed down his neck, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake.

A deep seated surge of paranoia welled up in him and Lukash turned around quick like lightning, the flame of the lighter trembling at the sudden movement. He saw the glowing bastard between the bunks and shot it. The poltergeist retaliated by pushing one of the bunks against him. The impact made him stagger, the metallic frame hitting him right on the wound crossing his chest. The pain momentarily stole his breath away.

Nonetheless, he shot at the mutant again as soon as he was able to do so, then another shot rang in the air. The poltergeist died with what looked like a small implosion of energy, revealing its true appearance. Ugh, he preferred their energy ball form.

"You know, it's the second time I find you hunting mutants in the dark." Voronin pointed the torchlight at him, looking between irritated and slightly amused.

Lukash got closer to him and smirked teasingly. "And both times you came to my rescue, even if I had the situation under control. If I didn't know better I'd say –"

"Yes, yes, thank God you know better," Voronin hurriedly cut him with a put upon grunt.

Since they were both up and about, they decided to retrace their steps from yesterday, in the hopes they missed something, anything. The map they had made was flawless, though. Everything was reflected on the piece of paper, nothing had escaped their notice.  And they were still irremediably trapped down here. Eventually they reached the room with the collapsed floor, the time warping anomaly sitting right under it. Had it deflated a bit or did he blow it out of proportion in his memory?

"The smart thing would be to not get into it again," Lukash said, scuffing his boot on the floor and sending a rain of tiny pebbles down into the anomaly.

"I never liked the idea of getting inside it," Voronin looked with distaste at the purplish bubble.

Last time they lost three days and all their energy in there. And yet Lukash both stood at the edge of the hole, looking down with fascination as the pebbles he pushed down seemed to float once they went inside the anomaly. It would take quite some time until they reached the floor.

"Any other ideas?" Voronin didn't sound very hopeful.

Equally desperate to avoid or stall going down there, Lukas wracked his brain for a single idea. There was nothing left unexplored on this floor; what could they try that they hadn't before? The hatch wouldn't budge; it probably was controlled remotely...

"Would you flip your shit if I, what word did you use, _play_ with the computer?" The word _again_ hung in the air between them, unsaid but tangible.

With one last look down to the time anomaly, Voronin turned to him. "I guess it can't hurt to try."

#

Waiting while Lukash worked on the computer was boring. First he patrolled around the room and investigated every corner of it, just to do something. Then Lukash complained he couldn't concentrate with him wandering about, so Voronin picked up one of the rickety stools from the floor and sat on it.

Watching the Freedomer work was interesting, at least for a short while. He was so focused on it, clearly showing his frustration every time he found a setback. It was almost endearing. Ultimately it didn’t offer that much entertainment, though. Mostly because everything in the screen looked like gibberish to him.

Voronin took out his PDA. According to its clock, and not counting the three days apparently spent crossing the time anomaly, they'd been here for about forty-eight hours. Sometimes it seemed like a lifetime. The communications channel was still dead and he even doubted his last message was properly sent. Voronin decided to confirm his theory by sending another message, a simple S.O.S this time. It worked like the last time, with an error telling him the messaging system was out of line even if the message was sent. He hoped Lukash was having better luck with the computer.

"I can't make this fucking piece of junk work!" Lukash violently pushed the keyboard away. "I'm out of ideas."

They both knew this had been a desperate attempt that would most probably fail. And yet neither of them liked the idea to go with their other plan. However, they were out of options.

"We have no other choice, do we?" Lukash sighed, swivelling lightly from side to side on the stool he was perched on.

Indeed they didn't.  So they went back to the office with the collapsed floor, bypassing the electro in the middle of the corridor like they did before.

The time anomaly hadn't miraculously disappeared, but it certainly looked smaller than the last time. Curious how it expanded and contracted. However, while other person might marvel at it and wonder what induced those changes, Voronin only cared that it meant they would spend less time inside it. Perhaps then it would sap less energy out of them, he felt tired enough right now, he’d keel over if he spent too much time in the anomaly.

"Okay, here we go. On the count of three: one, two..." Lukash jumped down before arriving to three.

During the seconds it took Voronin to jump down as well the Freedomer seemed to float mid-air, suspended in time. The illusion was quickly shattered when he went inside the anomaly too.

Despite the energy draining effect, since it was smaller in diameter than the last time and they needn’t climb anywhere now, it didn't take them more than a minute to get out. This translated into actually losing about three hours, according to their PDAs.

Retracing their steps was even easier in this floor, just checking the map to make sure it was accurate. And just as before there was nothing they had missed. Eventually they found themselves going to the upper floor and facing once more the big metal door separating them from their escape.

Neither said anything, but a cloud of gloom had settled over them. They were going to die down here. Sooner or later it would happen, unless they found a way out. Shit, when Voronin thought about leaving a legacy like General Tachenko's he never included mysteriously disappearing into the package.

He stood there, contemplating their bleak future in silence. For once Lukash didn’t start to fill the silence like he usually did. And when he eventually stormed off, because he got sick of staring at a slab of metal, something exploded on the other side of the door.

#

Startled by the detonation Lukash took a step or two backwards. The door was slightly bent out of its normal shape, what the fuck just happened? Voronin came back in time to see the door slowly swinging open.

Both Lukash and Voronin grabbed their weapons and pointed them towards the opening.  The metal door was pushed to the side and revealed a single stalker, who looked completely floored to see them.

"Woah," the man raised his hands in a placating gesture when confronted with both of them aiming their rifles at him.  "There's no need to shoot!"

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" Voronin barked at the stalker with his command voice.

"I... I'm just a loner! I heard the road to Pripyat had been cleared recently and came to investigate."

That was enough explanation for Lukash, but not for his Dutier companion, who was a highly suspicious bastard.

"This isn't exactly the road to Pripyat, isn’t it?" Voronin squinted at the man with distrust.

"Just a small detour!" The man squeaked. "I've never been so close to the infamous Brain Scorcher before, which I'm very glad was turned off, by the way. I saw the outer door, with the number pad, and I thought I could find something of value inside."

Lukash lowered his weapon and nudged Voronin to lower his Val too. The stalker flashed him a nervous smile and lowered his hands as well.

"You said the outer door had a number pad, did you blow that one apart too?"  He was honestly curious to know.

"Yes, with a modified grenade." Well, well, well, this guy was certainly interesting. And he had some great ideas. Perhaps they could have tried to force their way out sooner like that, had they had any explosives.

"There's nothing down there except anomalies," Voronin cautioned him.

The stalker nodded eagerly took out a detector from his belt. "That's fine, I'm an artifact hunter."

Voronin looked pityingly at him and went towards the exit. Lukash shared his eagerness to get the hell out from here and followed him. However, he turned around to face the stalker one last time. "Friendly advice: stay away from the purple anomaly!"

Leaving the flabbergasted loner behind, he stepped outside and went down the ladder. Being able to see the sky again was amazing. And best of all, he recognised where he was! This was the Red Forest, more precisely it was the road that went to the Brain Scorcher. And for once it wasn't crawling with Monolith soldiers.

"We're out!" Voronin answered to his enthusiasm with a noncommittal hum. That wouldn't do.

He grabbed the Dutier by the shoulders, watching him intently to see if he was capable of expressing some positive emotion. And, before he could think what he was doing, he planted a kiss on the surprised General. It lasted a few seconds until Voronin pushed him away and crushed him against the same ladder they had descended from.

Realising what he'd just done, Lukash kept his mouth shut instead of blurting _"I like it when you take control like that"_ like he'd been about to do. Even if it would have been mostly a joke he had the feeling Voronin wouldn't appreciate it.

"What the Hell Lukash." Voronin’s voice was startlingly rough. Lukash had no answer to his question, so instead he just held his gaze until Voronin released him.

"The Barrier is in this direction," he said, walking ahead to get away from Voronin's judging eyes.

It had felt nice but unremarkable. No reason to keep thinking about it, or to imagine how it would have been if the Dutier kissed back. Yeah.

The zombies coming from between the trees were a welcomed distraction, and that’s something he never imagined he would say. Killing them helped clean the atmosphere of any lingering awkwardness. Nonetheless, it was depressing to see so many zombified stalkers wearing Freedom's suits. Such was life in the Zone, and such was the price paid to keep control of the Barrier. At least they were outnumbered by zombified stalkers from Monolith, serves those bastards right.

The zombies kept dropping by all the time; a lone one now, then a pair or three of them together, then a lone straggler. Cleanse and repeat. In the end they opted to run and leave them behind before wasting all their ammo.

And soon they reached the control point that marked the entrance the end of Red Forest. The Barrier was just a road’s bend away.

#

A group of stalkers rushed from behind the abandoned cars near the booth at the control point. They all were from Freedom, and they weren’t very friendly, aiming their weapons at them.

"Stop and identify yourselves!"

Well, Voronin was almost impressed they hadn't shot him on the spot just for the uniform he wore.

"Max, don't you recognise me you idiot?" Lukash laughed in disbelief.

"All I see from here is a Dutier and a merc trying to cross into our territory!" The Freedomer, Max, replied. One of his comrades said something they didn't catch but had Max quickly checking his PDA. "Lukash?! Where the Hell have you been? And what are you doing with that Duty pig?"

"Stop pointing that rifle at my head for fuck's sake!"

"Sure, but what do we do with him?" No need to be a genius to know who the Freedomer was referring to.

"We grant him passage and let him go. Just this once." Lukash's idea wasn't very well received by his faction.

The Freedomers complained loudly about it and one even blamed him for Lukash's disappearance. Not a completely unexpected reaction, if he was honest. If the situation was reversed his men would probably do the same. Although Lukash didn't seem amused by their defiance.

"I said we let him go and that's final."

Truth be told, Voronin was surprised by Lukash's firm defence of him. Perhaps it should be expected after all they went through. In that hypothetical reversed situation, Voronin wouldn't let his men kill him on the spot either. It would feel wrong.

Deciding to cut this tense encounter short, Voronin voiced his agreement to Lukash’s terms. “I go my way and you go yours. Just this once, yes?"

It was just for a moment, but he saw a flash of disappointment on Lukash’s face. What had he expected? He couldn't go to Freedom's base for a last shot of vodka and a goodbye, they weren’t old friends, they were the leaders of enemy factions.

"Yeah. It's been... interesting." Lukash offered him his outstretched hand.

"It's been a nightmare, you mean." Voronin accepted the handshake.

"Only most of it." Lukash smirked and finally let go of his hand.

He waited while Lukash wrangled with the rest of the Freedomers until he managed to impose his will. In the meantime, he sent a message to his men to let them know he was alive and well. This way they would be expecting his arrival, and if he knew Petrenko well enough, he would dispatch a squad immediately. They would meet halfway if everything went well. And if for some reason Lukash’s men decided to not play fair and followed him, it was good to know reinforcements were on their way.

Once the last of the disgruntled Freedomers disappeared down the road then he went on his way. During his lonely trek back to Rostok he reflected on everything that happened. It was too much for only fifty hours, more or less. It seemed like he spent a lifetime trapped in that hellish bunker. And things didn't exactly go back to normal once they got out. And of course it had been the Freedomer’s fault. When Lukash kissed him his brain had short-circuited. He couldn’t even begin to fathom his intention for doing so, so Voronin decided to erase the incident from his memory. It never happened.

However, for something that according to him never happened, he spent quite some time thinking about it. More precisely, he spent the rest of the way to Rostok thinking about how Lukash's lips had felt against his own. Utter foolishness, even if it happened –which it didn’t, thank you very much- it was something best forgotten.

It would be much better to think about how he would enjoy finding Skull and killing him. He usually preferred to avoid making a public spectacle out of executions, but for him he would make an exception.


	14. Five times someone was surprised by Strelok's glasses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I wrote this inspired by grogulec and her amazing art over at tumblr (and because Strelok with glasses is just great). This fic is dedicated to her :)

# 1

His hideout might be small and mostly empty, but it was his place and Strelok felt fiercely protective of it. Never before had he shared its location with another stalker, but Ghost was his friend. At least he hoped so, he'd never been very good at this making friends business.

They had been working together for a while. Ghost was on a self-imposed mission to kill the leader of a cult named Final Day. It didn't sound foreboding at all, right? Ghost and Strelok joined up forces after Strelok inadvertently swooped in, killed a whole patrol ofFinal Day singlehandedly, and went away with the PDA Ghost was after.

And now they were at Strelok's hideout, pouring over different maps and clues they had collected, trying to find where Final Day's main base was hidden. After hours at it, Strelok's eyes were almost screaming for help, so he caved in and took out his reading glasses. Ghost's ongoing rant came to a sudden end.

"Dude, you look like my math teacher," Ghost said with an amused smile.

Schooling his face in a stern mask Strelok fixed him with an inquisitive glare. "And where is your homework young man?"

They both broke down laughing, Ghost wheezing between the guffaws that his impression had been uncannily similar.

In hindsight, Strelok would say it was on some point of that night, between planning their assault and their terrible jokes, that they truly became friends.

# 2

The _100 Rads_  was unusually empty that day. Just a couple of hard drinkers -almost a fixture of the place- were there, half passed out on the counter. And on a secluded table two stalkers tried to cheer up their companion.

"Sorry mate," Fang said for the third time that morning. "I really had no idea you wore glasses."

"I know, it's alright." Strelok knew it had been accident.

Fang had shoved him out of the way of an angry pseudo-dog and sent him crashing against a wall of rocks. Which was fine, because the backpack softened the impact. However nothing saved his glasses, safely stashed in the backpack, from the collision against solid rock. Strelok wasn't mad at Fang, after all he'd saved him from the pseudo-dog, but couldn't help looking forlornly at his glasses. Well, what was left of them.

"How come I've never seen you with the glasses before? Don't you need them to see?"

"I've only seen him use them to read," Ghost piped in. "He looks like a nerd with them."

Strelok would feel insulted if it wasn't for the fondness in Ghost's words. That, and he wasn't too busy contemplating his broken and twisted glasses.

"If you find lenses cand you still use them?" Fang eyed the two glassless halves Strelok was toying with.

"He could use them as monocles."

Ghost's ridiculous suggestion made Strelok snap out of his misery **.** "Just invite me to a drink and let's forget this."

His proposal was met with raucous approval, and Fang ended up paying for all Strelok's booze, as compensation he said.

Nevertheless, a week later Strelok woke up one day and found his glasses waiting for him on top of his backpack.  _Someone_  had welded both halves together and replaced the missing lenses. They were still a bit twisted in places, stiff in others, and overall ugly as fuck; and the lenses were not quite right. Nevertheless Strelok kept them, even when he later found a more functional replacement.

# 3

The amount of bandits at the Skadovsk was quite alarming. Nobody attacked anybody while on the old ship, but bandits and stalkers kept each to one side of the room, nervously eyeing at the other side while the blowout grew in intensity outside.

Strelok hated bandits with a fiery passion. However he understood the necessity of a truce of sorts in places like the Skadovsk. There certainly weren't many places in Zatonto hide during a blowout.

Scar wasn't shy about his dislike of bandits either, constantly glaring at Sultan and his men. Understandable, considering Sultan's guys had been dogging their steps for days with the intent to rob them or worse. Scar and he had gained quite the reputation as bandit killers, and the mercenary's furious glare was making them nervous. Strelok could swear he even saw one of those balaclava wearing idiots making a motion to grab his pistol.

"Why don't you go to see if Nimble has the weapon you asked for?" Strelok suggested, not wanting to see how the Skadovsk turned into a bloody battlefield.

Throwing one last calculating look in Sultan's direction, Scar went upstairs to negotiate with his old  _Clear Sky_  pal. Strelok had trouble imagining Nimble in  _Clear Sky_ 's uniform. He liked the guy but distrusted  _Clear Sky_  for obvious reasons. He still didn't know how he felt about Scar either. When he met the mercenary he immediately recognised him. He despised Scar and the only thing that kept him from putting a bullet in him was... well, he wasn't sure. Perhaps it had been Degtyarev's presence, at least until he'd been called back by the top brass.

Against all odds, Scar and Strelok actually worked well together. It was hard to keep hating someone's guts when you were saving each other's skins on a daily basis. So while he might not like the mercenary very much, the rage his presence used to inspire had died down. Besides, they found a common objective in fighting the bandits who foolishly kept ambushing them.

The blowout raged outside and the ship shook under the pounding of the psy energy storm. To pass the time Strelok decided to organize his bag and see what he could sell, he was overburdened with all the ammo he compulsively hoarded. He found a pierced can of Tourist's Delight and bits of canned meat spread all over the contents of his backpack. His glasses were sticky and had a piece of meat smeared on the lenses.

Strelok wiped the glasses clean and put them on. No, they were still smudged, he saw everything blurry. He heard some scornful snickering when he tried them on, but Strelok was used to that. He paid those idiots no mind and cleaned the glasses again. Ah yes, much better this time!

"The blowout is almost over, I don't want to spend here a minute more than necessary," a voice said surprisingly close to him.

Startled by the unexpected comment, he turned to the source of the voice to see Scar waiting by his side. The merc's face changed into surprise when he saw Strelok, who still sported his glasses. The moment stretched like an eternity.

"The glasses..." Scar said like that explained everything he was trying to express.

"Yeah, what?" Strelok growled at him. He was willing to let slide a single joke or comment about it, just this once.

The mercenary looked fixedly at him like he was mesmerized. "I had never seen you with glasses. You look good with them."

Scar's admission left him wordless. Oh. Strelok's face grew hot and he had the oddest feeling in the pit of his stomach. That had been a compliment, right? How should he answer? He had no idea of what to do now.

"Th-the blowout is over, we should go now." He walked to the door, refusing to meet Scar's eyes any longer. Strelok hoped the cold air of Zaton's plains would help him hide the persistent flush on his cheeks.

# 4

"Are you sure  _this_  is the famous Heart of the Oasis? It looks like a weird green Fireball."

The doubts of privateGalkin were understandable. Up close the legendary looked pretty unremarkable, but mistaking it for a Fireball was quite the leap. Luckily, Strelok could be considered an expert on artifacts. He had collected all kinds during his expeditions, often risking his own integrity in the process. He couldn't help it though, Strelok was a born scavenger.

"Sure it is! One second," Strelok took out his glasses to see better every detail of the pulsing rock he held in his left hand. "Do you see vines around it? If you look closely you'll see they actually pierce it from one side to the other. And the core is green because it's made of leaves, see them? Fireballs aren't that rounded, and are always blood red."

"And does it work?" The young soldier was enthralled looking at the artifact.

"It definitely heals," Scar said unhappily. It was the first time he spoke again after Strelok tested the artifact's properties that morning.

"How can you be so sure?"Galkin sure was full of questions.

"Because that reckless moron here had the bright idea to equip the Heart and jump off a cliff to see if it worked." Scar answered, full of sarcasm and some residual anger.

Just then Degtyarev came out of the military prefab and spotted them. He stopped dead in his tracks, whether it was a reaction to Strelok's latest stunt or seeing him with the glasses for the first time remained a mystery.

"It wasn't a very tall cliff!" Strelok defended himself. Really, he wasn't stupid! And he had been carrying a Soul artifact in his backpack, in case anything went wrong.

The boy's eyes went big as saucers. "Woah, I had no idea scientists were so daring! Is that a normal procedure, doctor...?"

"Doctor Strelok? Such an honour to meet you at last," Degtyarev finally chimed in, eyes shining with mirth. "You know, he glasses really sell the image."

"Wait, Strelok? As in the guy who disabled the Brain Scorcher? Did you really see the Wish Granter? " Private Galkin was even more excited now.

Strelok gave him a weak smile and looked pleadingly at Degtyarev. He was very uncomfortable when the rookies -and sometimes not only them- went all starstruck around him.

Degtyarev caught his silent plea, thank God. "You can return to your post, soldier. Now! Or you'll be cleaning floors with a toothbrush for a month!"

Galkin went away, sulking like a child who got scolded. In Strelok's opinion, someone so young shouldn't be in the Zone; but then again he hadn't been much older when he snuck in for the first time.

"Good to see you learned to work together," Degtyarev was genuinely pleased to see Strelok and Scar were getting along, or at least not trying to kill each other. "Professor Ozersky is waiting for us. No, don't take off your glasses yet, Tarasov is with him and I wanna see how long it takes him to recognise you."

# 5

Searching a clue of who he was a sad task, especially because he had so few belongings they all fit in the pockets of his coat. The backpack was empty, just like his head. Where have all his memories gone? He supposed he should be grateful to even be alive after the truck crash.

He had no name, no life he remembered, no purpose beyond apparently trying to kill someone. Who was he? The idea of killing stirred the ghost of a memory, faint and fleeting, so he supposed it was something he'd done before. He couldn't be very normal if he'd been in the Zone, that much he knew.

The line of objects in front of him was pitifully short and impersonal: a few bullets, a piece of something that it might have been bread, a strange and wicked looking tooth from God knew what animal, and a twisted mess of dark metal that once were a pair of glasses. That had been the most surprising one. Were those his? He didn't think he actually needed glasses, so far he saw everything fine. They looked like he either picked them from a dump or had repaired the glasses often, there were traces of them being welded together at various points. He tried them on but he felt stupid, one of the lenses was missing and the other was cracked. And the bent metal frame dug uncomfortably on his temple. No, those definitely weren't his, but then he couldn't understand why he'd been carrying them in the first place.

After a long stretch of time looking at the objects like he expected a sudden revelation -and getting none- he decided to sell the bullets and throw the rest. It was all trash anyway. He better stopped losing his time and started searching for that guy Strelok.


	15. A stroll in Agroprom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, I'm still writing! And this time I come with more adventures about my OC, Shovel, so this is a direct contiuation/sequel/whatever you want to call it to chapter 10: A Mostly Normal Life (So Far).
> 
> I have written some short stories and promts (both about Shovel and about cannon characters) in my writing blog: deepseawritings . tumblr . com, in case you wanna check it out.

The ache in her hands persisted through the day. It felt like she had small shards of glass on her joints, and the skin over her fingers and knuckles was reddened and itchy. But the pain had quieted down considerably since Shovel discovered vodka apparently cured radiation poisoning.

She asked Evgenii if it wouldn't be more effective to douse her hands with the liquor, but his horrified stare spoke volumes about what he thought of her idea. To be honest, it was a waste of perfectly good vodka. And medicine was usually ingested, she reasoned. So Shovel singlehandedly drank a quarter of the bottle. Just enough to dull the pain in her hands. Evgenii also drank, their little misadventure in Garbage had left them both more affected by the radiation than they anticipated. Not to mention Shovel's newfound case of acute paranoia. Bandits that disguised themselves as other factions to kill you... it still made her shudder. Thankfully the vodka also helped with that, she felt much better now!

This was starting to remind her of her teenage years: squatting around a campfire eating  _shashlik_  –rat  _shashlik_  most probably, but it was better to not think about that– and drinking vodka and bragging about who shot farthest. Only she used to shoot old bottles and cans years ago; now she shot at mutated animals or worse to not get mauled to death. But what had Bes told them? Oh yes, such is life in the Zone!

Next day they were slightly hangover, but her hands felt fine again. Completely worth it. Besides, it wasn't like this was her first hangover ever. After a light breakfast around the ashes of Bes' campfire they crossed into Agroprom without further incidents. Shovel was happy to leave the radioactive mountains of trash behind them. It felt good to walk on solid ground again, without climbing shifting piles of debris or feeling the crunching of glass and metal detritus beneath her boots. The hangar seemed deserted when they passed by, but neither she or Evgenii went in to check if the bandits were still there. No, they just scurried along in their best attempt at stealth. And from there it was only a matter of following the dusty road.

The Agroprom institute was visible in the distance, a massive complex right by the side of the train tracks. Shovel remembered how her father's friend, Mr. Ponomarenko, used to ramble about a secret conspiracy around the old Agroprom Institute and the exclusion Zone. But that used to happen after he'd had a few beers and shots of vodka, so everyone rolled their eyes at his rants and ignored him.

The Agroprom buildings had been abandoned a long time ago, just like the railroads. However, what really caught her attention were the artifacts, strewn around like someone had prepared the most ridiculous Easter egg hunt.

"Fuck me, are you seeing this too or am I still drunk?" Evgenii had the funniest look in his face, like he was seconds away from pinching himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

"I see it too," she was almost as dazed as him. Surely an artifact detector would go crazy and implode if used here. "I thought artifacts were almost impossible to find without a detector?"

Evgenii smiled exceitedly like a child in Christmas. "C'mon, drinks at  _The 100 Rads_  are on the one who picks up less artifacts!"

Shovel stopped him by grabbing his arm. Not because she didn't have a clue of what was  _The 100 Rads_ , it was impossible to not have heard about it after spending two weeks in a stalker camp, but because she had just remembered a critical piece of information.

"Didn't- uh, aren't artifacts spawned because of anomalies?" Markov might have been a coward and a self-serving pig, but so far all he'd told them about the Zone turned out to be true.

"Yeah, sure, usually inside anomalies..." Evgenii's face shifted into a grimace when he realised what Shovel meant. "We use the bolts then."

Given the amount of artifacts lying around, Shovel had expected to find an anomaly minefield. However, in fact the anomalies were few and far between. She mulled over such oddity until she remembered the anomaly in her farm's field, which randomly disappeared one day. Shovel felt a bit stupid, but in her defence she'd grown so used to constantly seeing anomies around that it seemed like they were permanent. Usually it didn't make a difference if the springboard by the side of the rookie village disappeared one day, because most surely a vortex had popped into existence two steps down the same spot.

The only place that actually was a death trap was the old train tunnel. Evgenii had thrown a bolt in there and triggered at least half a dozen anomalies. He jumped in surprise and let out a shrill cry that he later would deny.

"Shit, don't get inside there!" He yelled to ensure she heard him. "Unless you want to become minced meat!"

Taking good note of that, Shovel shouted back her thanks and avoided the tunnel entrance. Even so, they picked up quite a bounty of artifacts from the clearing bracketing the train tracks. Shovel enjoyed the moment, it really wasn't that different from picking berries with her sister as they did as kids. 

It was weird that artifacts moved on their own, though. Normally it was a kind of restless jiggle, but one of them was moving erratically like it wanted to escape. Which was ridiculous, because artifacts weren't sentient, right? Intent on catching the damn thing, she tripped down when chasing the restless artifact. Evgenii made a valiant effort to hide his chuckling as a cough, but without much success. And then the peace was shattered by a not so distant shot, followed by indistinct yelling.

Evgenii looked at her like a deer caught in the headlights. Shovel was in a similarly panicked state, she just was less expressive than him.

"Should we go check it? Or hide?"

As if she had a good answer for that! "Your guess is as good as mine Evgenii."

The synchronized beeping of the PDAs startled them, and Shovel rushed to check the message.

_12:06 – Anton Belyavin, Ecologist_

_Big pack of dogs with a pseudo-dog near the Agroprom Factory. Help needed!_

It looked genuine enough. She doubted bandits could falsify that. Or so she hoped. And if you listened intently enough you could hear some faint barking among the distant ruckus. Shovel made up her mind.

"Okay, let's go. Have your weapon ready."

Following the train tracks to their end at the other side of the complex's courtyard, Shovel fought to keep calm. She kept telling herself it was just like going hunting, like the missions she did for Wolf back at the rookie camp. Except she knew it wasn't. Shovel had only faced down about three or four mutants at once before, not a huge pack of them. If they weren't fast or good enough someone might die. That of course if she hadn't misjudged the situation and it was a trap after all.

Once they crossed to the other side of the broken concrete fence the furious barking was almost deafening. A stalker in an orange protective suit had climbed to the lowest branch of a tree, cowering from a pseudo-dog, while a stalker in a more typical dirty green suit tried to keep a pack of rabid dogs at bay. Shovel went straight for the pseudo-dog, who had finally grabbed the climbing stalker by the leg of the suit and was trying to drag him down the tree. Her hunting rifle had never disappointed her and now it wasn't any different. When she had to reload it Evgenii took over, shooting at the pseudo-dog with his Fort-12. They were getting used to work as a team.

The pseudo-dog let its current prey go and ran towards them. Shovel shot at it again, hoping it would be enough to kill it. It wasn't. The limping and bloody pseudo-dog lunged at her. Shovel jumped to the side to avoid it, and once she was out of the way Evgenii finished off the mutant with a headshot. The rest of the dogs scattered soon after that, not as bloodthirsty after the other stalker kept shooting at them with the Obokan.

"Good timing, if it wasn't for your help the little doc would be dog food." The stalker slung the Obokan back, yanked down the bandana covering her face and offered Shovel her hand. "Name's Gecko."

"Yul- Shovel, I'm Shovel!" She squeaked, feeling her face grow hot as she accepted the handshake.

The stalker was a woman. Which wasn't that surprising, Shovel had seen before other lady stalkers, as she dubbed them. But Gecko was dark eyed, and delightfully tall and her short hair stuck out adorably like a hedgehog. Shovel was instantly moonstruck.

Seeing as Shovel went mute, Evgenii introduced himself. "Glad be could be of help! I'm Evgenii."

Gecko nodded at him and then addressed the other stalker, who finally jumped down from his branch. "How's the leg, little doc?"

"Fine, fine. The suit's wrecked though," the man held his leg raised, showing them all the shredded suit leg. Gecko coughed pointedly, but the man didn't notice it. "Where did we stash my instruments?It's vital that I gather samples while the specimen is still fresh."

With an exasperated sigh Gecko rumaged around her backpack and gave him what looked like a small toolbox. She cleared her throat again, but seeing as the man eagerly squatted next to the dead pseudo-dog's body, Gecko desisted in trying to capture his attention.

"You'll have to excuse doctor Belyavin, he tends to focus too much on his work."

"You're ecologists?" Evgenii perked up. According to the rumour mill at the rookie village, ecologists paid pretty well for any artifact you brought them.

"He works on old Sakharov's team. I just make sure he comes back alive and with not many limbs missing," Gecko gave a short, bitter laugh. "Not like doctor Vasilevich. Just barely outside the camp he stepped into a whirligig and  _bam!_  he rained on us like confetti."

Shovel grimaced. It was a horrible way to go, both for the victim and the witnesses. She would have offered her condolences, but she had no idea of what to say, so she kept her mouth shut.

"Ah, where are you going now?" Evgenii asked.

"Back to Sakharov, in Yantar. If the little doc decides he's done taking samples?"

"Just a moment!" Belyavin said while he fumbled with his toolbox. "I don't know why are you so eager to get to the swamp, it's a terrible place."

"Swamp?" Evgenii asked Gecko. He looked as confused as Shovel, who had no idea of where was Yantar.

Gecko made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "The Yantar camp is near a small swamp. And on our way out of Agroprom we'll have to skirt a swampy pond."

Shovel wasn't a fan of swamps, but that didn't sound so terrible.

"Yeah, and both snorks and zombified stalkers love the goddamn swamp," Belyavin ranted displeased. For someone who looked younger than Shovel, he surely was grumpy like an old man. "I can't wait to get out of this hellhole, research opportunities be damned. I won't be able to publish anything if I'm dead!"

Shovel and Evgenii looked at each other alarmed. He mouthed  _"Zombies"_  at her in horror, and Shovel wished she could believe it was a joke. Unfortunately, the scientist had sounded very serious in his complaint. Meanwhile Belyavin had kept complaining about what the dangers of the Zone, which where many according to him, despite Gecko's efforts to make him stop.

"Little doc stop it,  _blin_! You'll scare the rookies!"

"Well, perhaps they should be scared! It might be good for them. Who in their right mind willingly comes underequipped to squat in a dangerous radioactive area?"

"We can accompany you to Yantar. For extra protection." Shovel's offer made everyone shut up and look at her in surprise, even Evgenii. She started to blush again under Gecko's scrutiny. "It's not that I don't think you capable, because you look formidable like an Amazon... uh, what I meant to say is maybe a couple of extra weapons could be helpful against the dangers of the Zone, even if we're rookies... and uh, we have artifacts?"

Thank God Evgenii took pity of her after her terrible and bumbling speech and came to her aid. "Yeah, we were looking to sell our artifacts. And if the ecologists are short on people I wouldn't mind lending a hand."

Gecko looked at Belyavin, who shrugged back in indifference.

"Fine by me," Gecko eventually said with an impish look in her eyes. "I've never before travelled with someone who thought I was formidable like an Amazon."

Shovel hid her face in her hands. Just for once she'd like to not put her foot in her mouth when speaking with a woman she liked.

As if to mirror her mortification, the sky darkened considerably, casting literal dark clouds over them. Crackling thunder built up in the distance. All very dramatic. Then all the PDAs beeped simultaneously, and even worse, a shrill alarm blared loud enough to reach even the old compound behind them.

"That can't be right," Belyavin went pale like a ghost and hurriedly checked his PDA. "The next emission was supposed to –"

"Well, you were wrong," Gecko cut him off. "Look at the skies, we must search for cover."

Shovel wasn't certain of what was happening, yet she was sure it was nothing good. Still, she disliked being in the dark. "What the heck is going on?"

"A blowout. C'mon, there's an entrance to the underground tunnels somewhere nearby," Gecko said.

At least Evgenii seemed as lost as Shovel was. It was a small comfort, but as her  _babushka_  used to say, when things went to shit it was better to find comfort wherever you could.

The sky turned blood red alarmingly fast, the light dim and unnatural, and Shovel was reminded of that weird storm years ago, before the first anomaly in her fields appeared out of nowhere. Gecko found the entrance to the tunnels, but Belyavin was feeling rebellious.

"I don't see why we can't go to that building instead of crawling underground like roaches," he pointed to the dilapidated complex behind them. A sound like thunder grew and grew while he talked, making it difficult to hear him.

"Underground is safer than a building full if holes!" Gecko had to scream to be heard at this point. "If you want to go, fine! But don't expect me to carry your dead or zombified arse back to Yantar!"

After such a convincing argument Belyavin stopped opposing her idea to find refuge underground. He climbed down the ladder between Shovel and Evgenii, who unlike Belyavin didn't think for a moment to argue against the most experienced person of their group.

The Agroprom Underground was unpleasantly cold and damp, and it smelled like something had died down here a long time ago, which was extremely probable. However, contrary to what Shovel imagined, it wasn't a tunnel nor some kind of sewers, it was more like an underground hall. A dim orange light, coming from an emergency light bulb, bathed the place.

Gecko was the last one to come down the ladder, just as the earth shook and a deafening noise was heard coming from outside. She ordered them to get away from the entrance and this time everyone complied at once. Shovel mesmerized by the red light filtering down the ladder's shaft. Had the Red Storm, as her father had called it, been a blowout too? Shovel was starting to realise that being on the other side of the fence didn't mean that her farm hadn't been part of the Zone almost since the beginning. Did that make them all technically farming stalkers?

"Well, hello there!"

Two guys emerged from a shadowed corner, sauntering towards Shovel's group. Their ensemble of long dark coat plus balaclava gave away their affiliation.

"Bandits,"Belyavin said through clenched teeth.

The grumpy scientist wasn't happy with their current situation, but neither was Shovel. And she couldn't imagine Evgenii was happy either. Gecko looked tense as a spring, ready to jump at the slightest indication the bandits were going to attack.

"I'm Noodle and this is Squint. Must say we weren't expecting anyone!" The tallest of the two opened his arms in a welcoming gesture.

Time seemed to go still, like everyone in their group. Shovel could see Gecko's fingers twitching, like she wanted nothing more than to grab her weapon. Yet no one dared move, waiting with baited breath for the other party to move first. Belyavin muttered something about  _"freaking bandits are worse than a plague"_  with the utmost contempt. Unfortunately his voice carried loud enough in the tense silence.

"Bandits? Who's a bandit? Not us, that for sure!" In a different situation, Noodle's affectation of innocent surprise could have been comical. But right now Shovel could only think it was forced and creepy. "Not anymore at least."

Yeah, sure. And Shovel was the long lost empress of Russia. Evgenii's chortle, masked as a cough, made her think she'd said that aloud. But no, it was just his reaction of disbelief to the bandit's assertion.

"They don't believe us." Well, wasn't this Squint a keen observer?

"Not everyone has felt the call brother," Noodle made a show of sighing exaggeratedly and shaking his head.

"What call?" Gecko asked them, still looking ready to grab her weapon any second now.

"The call of the Monolith, of course!" Squint said with a gleam in his eyes.

"Our comrade Leech heard the Monolith, it spoke to him. And he changed. He only wanted to go find the Monolith," Noodle explained them, like they were friends talking over a cup of tea. "Why assault and rob people when the Monolith could grant us wealth and anything we wanted? So we decided to go with Leech to Pripyat and find the Wish Granter."

Wasn't the Monolith just a myth? Shovel always thought Wolf's stories of the Wish Granter were tall tales, entertaining but faker than a four ruble coin. But if what these two said was true... the idea of a thing that made people obsess over it, that spoke to them and made them changed their minds overnight... was she the only one who thought it was creepy beyond belief? Her face must have betrayed some emotion, because Noodle suddenly focused on her.

"The girl knows what I'm talking about, right?" He pointed at her with a nod, and Shovel's entire group turned around to look at her.

"No! I don't hear voices!" Shovel quickly defended herself.

"Leech said it began as a faint whisper," Squint supplied unnecessarily.

There had been a couple of times when the wind seemed to whisper things, gibberish, but that was just the wind. It also happened at home, before the Red Storm, when everything was normal. Shovel was thinking of how to voice that, because she didn't like how the bandits were looking at her. Too expectant and hopeful. Thankfully Gecko intervened with a rather pressing question.

"And where is your friend now? This Leech?"

The so called ex-bandit grimaced and made a vague gesture that pointed someplace behind him, in the dark. "Dead. Fucking bloodsuckers got him."

Wait, what? Bloodsuckers? Shovel had heard a lot about bloodsuckers, especially around campfires while the veteran stalkers tried their damnest to scare the rookies. And Shovel was pretty sure she didn't want to meet those mutants ever. Even if the stories had been exaggerated.

"There are bloodsuckers here?!" Even Gecko was worried, which wasn't reassuring in the slightest.

"Yeah, further down," Noodle said. "But it's cool, the stairs will stop'em."

They all stopped to listen, searching any indication the mutants had figured out the stairs. And if on cue, there was a strange rasping sound far away in deep, dark recesses. Was her imagination playing tricks on her or did it truly sound like something was scratching metal? They all looked at each other in search of reassurance, differences like ex-bandit and stalker forgotten in their common fear of bloodsuckers. Gecko took a hesitant step forward, finally reaching for her weapon.

"I'll go have a look. Stay alert."

Gecko directed a fleeting glance to the ex-bandits. She clearly didn't trust them much. That was fine, Shovel didn't like them at all either. Evgenii solemnly nodded, unholstering his pistol as they watched Gecko disappear on the dark end of the corridor.

They say the waiting part is the worst. And Shovel never had much patience to begin with. Had they been waiting just seconds or minutes already? Time stretched strangely when you were on alert. In the end they all walked further into the room, stopping on the nexy archway. Stil no sign of Gecko, only darkness ahead.

There was a crackling sound coming from far behind her. She had learnt to identify the sound as the discharge of an electro. Turning around, she took a couple of steps towards the sound. Her flashlight revealed a small tunnel, alight with the fain blue glow of an electro. Then all hell broke loose.

The dreaded and unmistakeable sound of someone firing a rifle echoed in the underground tunnels. Shovel wiped her head around and saw Evgenii dart a couple of steps forward, gun held high.

"Are you ok? Gecko! What's going on?" He yelled into the dark.

There was no reply, just another crack and hiss from the electro. Was something (a bloodsucker) coming for them? They had no idea where that tunnel lead, and there must be a reason for the electro's discharges. As far as she knew, electros only cracked like that when something or someone stepped into them. So Shovel turned her back to the rest of the group and aimed her hunting rifle to the entrance of the suspicious tunnel.

"I fucking hate the Zone," Belyavin said aloud to no one in particular. “It’s all a death trap.”

"Leech used to say the Monolith demands sacrifice," was the laconic answer of Noodle.

"Oh yes? Lovely."

"Yeah," Noodle replied.

Shovel heard two quick shots behind her, too close. Terrifyingly close. Something hit the ground. Her thoughts tangled in an endless loop of  _"No, no! This isn't- can't be.."_  

She wanted to turn around, see what happened. Yet at the same time she was too afraid of what she would see. The cold fingers of dread were squeezing her, keeping her rooted to her spot. Then something hard impacted painfully against the back of her head, and Shovel's last jumbled thought was  _"I hope 'm not bleeding. Taking blood out of my hair is going to be a nightmare"_  before her world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably guess, there is going to be a continuation to this, I promise! Although I don't know when I'll have it written.


	16. End of the line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strelok dies during Pripyat's evacuation in CoP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me say it loud and clear THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. That's right folks, I killed Strelok ;-;
> 
> If you wanna read something more cheerful, I posted two Scar/Strelok prompts on my writing tumblr a few days ago: deepseawritings (.) tumblr (.) com

Against all common sense, no one had expected the Monolith ambush. As if there hadn't been enough with the hordes of mutants and the psy emission from minutes earlier. Strelok spotted a Preacher on top of the Cinema, waving his arms in the air like a lunatic. Fuck, he detested those guys.

"There, on the Prometheus' roof! Keep your eyes and your snipers trained on that guy," Strelok advised to Major Degtyarev.

He was unsure if he heard him, as the last part of his sentence was drowned by gunfire. More Monolithians were coming, advancing up to their position and flanking them. Things were about to get ugly, he could tell. Especially since there was next to no cover in this godforsaken square.

"Shit, snipers over there!" One of the soldiers cried out in warning.

There was no time to react, though. A familiar hum filled the air and then the deadly beam of a Gauss rifle obliterated the poor man who just spoke. The rest of the stalkers and soldiers dispersed, trying to avoid being the next target. And then the snipers fired against them all.

Strelok felt something hot punch him on the back. He gasped in pain and his mouth was filled with the salty and metallic taste of blood. He blinked in shock as he fell to the ground, the noise of the fight suddenly drowned by his own frenzied heartbeat. He blinked again and the streets of Pripyat vanished around him as everything went dark.

 

A familiar smell of mildew and wet concrete hit him like a slap. He was in a small room that looked like it was part of a ventilation tunnel, with maps stuck on one of the walls and a perpetually half empty metallic shelf.

He'd spent so many hours here, in his hideout. It was the only place where he never felt alone, even after his amnesia. His friends left a permanent imprint here, he'd kept small bits and pieces of their lives in this place. Safe.

"Strelok, you can't be here for long."

Doc was sitting on one of the crates, looking at him with a smile. His eyes were sad, though. He felt guilty, for Strelok was convinced it was his fault.

"I didn't go to visit you. I'm sorry Doc."

The old stalker sighed deeply. "I always knew you'd end up badly."

 

Bright sunlight shone over the train tracks, making them gleam like they were new instead of a rusted wreck. A soft breeze gently rocked the tall grass, and birds sang in the distance like there weren't mutants waiting to eat them. It almost didn't look like the Zone. Too peaceful.

"How did I end up here?"

"I call this is the waiting place," Fang said.

His exosuit looked as patched up as he remembered. And he hadn't changed one bit either. Hard to change, when you are dead. All the elation he'd felt to see him quickly left Strelok when he realised that.

"You aren't really here, are you?" Fang gave him a pointed look, the same kind as when he thought Strelok was coming up with a bullshit plan.

"I'm here as much as you are," Fang told him with a clap on his back that rattled him. "Did you also feel the hot sting of the bullet when it hit you?"

He stumbled under the force of Fang's unexpected clap, and the sudden movement brought a surge of something hot and metallic in the back of his throat. He spit up blood.

_"Fuck, I can't stop the bleeding!"_

_"Careful, they keep coming!"_

"You always insisted to take the lead, even when you didn't know where you were going," Guide told him. Fang was nowhere to be seen now. Somehow he wasn't surprised by that.

Strelok thought about the last time he'd seen Guide. It was too long ago, it seemed like a whole life away. And yet he had no doubts that his old friend would help him, like he always did.

"Can you show me the way out of here?"

Guide shook his head slowly. "Can't lead you through a path I haven't taken yet."

 

A group of clouds rolled by, bold and dark. Strelok was shivering now. His chest felt heavy, like filled with lead. He couldn't breathe.

"You were always a bit of a reckless idiot." Strelok needn't turn around to see Guide was gone. He'd have recognized that voice anywhere, anytime.

"Ghost, I'm so cold."

"I know. It won't last."

He turned around now and saw his friend crouched by the train tracks, touching them almost with reverence. A lump settled on his throat at the sight.

"I saw you once, lying on the floor of that God-forsaken lab. But I didn't recognize you then. I'm sorry."

Ghost got up and nodded solemnly like he already knew. Perhaps he did. "You'll lie on the floor too, I think. You're running out of time mate."

"Out of time for what?"

"Going back," Ghost flashed him a sympathetic look. "But I think that choice has been taken away from you. That sucks."

Strelok snorted humourlessly. He felt like he had rarely had a choice in his life. "I didn't know there was a choice."

_"Fall back, there are more snipers in the roof!"_

_"Someone kill that damn Preacher!"_

_"C'mon Degtyarev, he's dead!"_

"There's always a choice, but sometimes it isn't yours." This time it was Guide who answered him.

All four of his friends were there with him. The group was together one last time. He wanted this moment to stretch forever, but that wasn't possible. All they had left were mere seconds, the last grains of sand slowly falling down the hourglass.

"I'm not going back." Strelok didn't know if it was a choice or not, he just knew it was the truth.

"I know," Doc sighed and put his hand on Strelok's shoulder. "I suspected it for a long time, my boy."

Everything went darker, his field of vision collapsed to a narrow beam and Doc and Guide vanished in the edges. Only Ghost and Fang remained with him. They and the still gleaming train tracks.

He tilted his head in the direction of the seemingly endless rails. "Where do they lead?"

"It's different for everyone," Fang told him.

"But you don't have to walk alone," Ghost said.

Strelok put his arms around both their shoulders and smiled for the first time in months.

 

Three men walk down the tracks, joking like old friends, and a stalker draws his last shuddering breath in the square between Pripyat's docks and the Prometheus Cinema.

Three men walk down the tracks, and one silent heartbeat later the evacuation helicopter finally shows up. The survivors of the ambush have to jump over their fallen comrades to get in the helicopter, to survive. They fly away, leaving the dead behind but carrying that weight back with them. Some nights Degytarev will wake up after midnight, feeling the blame for not saving enough of them, and a most curious ache for a friendship that never was.

Three men walk down the tracks and Strelok lies on the floor, among other stalkers, other soldiers. He will be another of the roaming spectres of Pripyat, one of many. His knowledge, the secrets of the Zone, will fade with him. But not his name. His story will never be truly forgotten.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try for next one to be something season/christmas related, or the next part of Shovel's adventure!


	17. The early days (Strelok's group)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy moly, it’s been roughly about a year since I started writing S.T.A.L.K.E.R. fanfic!  
> To celebrate, I wanted to write something fun and season appropiate, but writer’s block has been plaguing me until very recently. However, I managed to write a short thing, partially inspired by the art from cookieekun I’ve been seeing recently on tumblr, partially because I wanted to write something about Strelok’s group that wasn’t heavy with angst.

It was cold. Cold beyond words. His breath flared like a cloud of smoke, quickly freezing in the air, and Strelok looked at Ghost’s scarf with longing. It was tattered and it smelled like wet dog, but at least it was warm. And Fang had the gas mask protecting his face from the chilled winds, lucky bastard.

“Are you going to admit you’re lost?” Ghost asked him from behind his woolly scarf.

“For the last time, I’m not lost!” Strelok replied. “This is a shortcut.”

“It would be great if it was a shortcut to somewhere warm, my balls have turned into ice cubes.”

Strelok could believe that. He was pretty sure his own blood was slowly freezing inside his veins.

“Well I’m not gonna help you warm them.” His silly comment made Ghost snort and then start laughing.

“I feel like I’m walking inside a f-fridge guys,” Fang piped up after a long suffering sigh. “C-can we camp for the night?”

There was still a good hour of light, even with the dark clouds rolling by from the north. But they were all freezing, so the idea was received with enthusiasm. However, it’s not so easy to find shelter in the middle of the wilderness, unless you’re ready to settle for sleeping under a tree. So they grudgingly backtracked their steps until fifteen minutes later they reached their destination.

The building was literally lost in the woods, away from any reminder of civilization. It was similar to the farm in Cordon, but smaller. Most importantly, it would keep them safe from the cold.

“Gather everything that looks remotely flammable,” Fang asked them.

Invigorated at the prospect of a bonfire, Strelok started picking up all the twigs he saw, no matter how painfully thin they were. Ghost hollered in triumph and showed them a dented can that could be a gasoline container. And Fang disappeared behind the building, only to come back not much later empty handed.

“Hope that will be enough,” Fang sounded doubtful, which was no surprise since their bounty was ridiculously poor.

“It will suffice,” Ghost assured him.

Strelok agreed with Fang. Ghost was either over-confident in their ability to keep a fire going or delusional.

The inside of the building was pitch dark. Anything could be lurking there. Fang’s flashlight swiped across empty spaces and dirty floors. One high pitched squeal later, something bulky and running on all fours charged towards them. Strelok quickly jumped to the side, dropping the wood in the process, but the boar bowled over Ghost and threw him to the ground. Fang cursed and tried to get his weapon without dropping the flashlight, but he was still fumbling when the boar was already long gone.

Good riddance to it, although it was a shame they hadn’t killed it. Strelok could go for a dinner of roasted boar, much better than their sad and stale rations.

“Shit!” Ghost stood up, pressing his hand against his thigh. “The son of a bitch got me good.”

Both Strelok and Fang crowded him, worried by the bleeding. The wavering light of Fang’s flashlight was enough to see the rivulets of red flowing through Ghost’s fingers, and this was not a promising development. Ghost moved the hand away just a little bit, enough to see where the boar had gored him, and blood quickly gushed out and covered his whole hand.

“Punctured artery, most likely,” Fang commented. The slight trembling in his voice was most assuredly not from the cold.

Opening a medkit, a simple and fairly brief action, took Strelok several tries as the damned thing  _would. not. open._  In the end he tore the package open with his teeth, spilling the contents of the medkit all over the floor.  The flashlight was shoved into Ghost’s free hand as Fang rushed to help Strelok gather back the scattered medical supplies. And when they got it all and were ready to treat his injury, Ghost put his and away revealing an already closing wound.

A chorus of  _“_ _The fuck?_ _”_  and  _“_ _No way dude!_ _”_  ensued. However, despite their collective disbelief, the flesh was mending right before their eyes, almost too slowly to see it clearly.

“That’s… kinda freaky,” Fang said with a pinched look.

Strelok made a noise of agreement and carefully poked the edges of the injury. Felt good as new.  “Freaky but cool. And useful!”

“This suit is like having superpowers,” Ghost said with a goofy grin. “I’m like the Zone’s Superman now!”

Fang snorted in amusement and soon they all were laughing, letting go of the tension of just a minute ago. It felt good.

Afterwards, Fang managed to start a fire with the remnants of gasoline left on the salvaged can and the wood twigs. It was a small fire, but to them it was Heaven on earth, warm and cosy in the dark building. Huddled together around the flames they ate their rations, hard bread and sausages so could they could be frozen.

“Do you think the suit only works when worn?” Ghost asked absently. “Or could I heal someone by touching them? How much contact would be needed?”

“I have an idea to know if –”

“NO!” both of Strelok’s friends cut him off.

“I’m vetoing the idea,” Fang told him, “if it’s like your ideas to test artifact properties surely it will involve jumping off of a bridge or something like that.”

Strelok stared at them with a devilish smirk. Not all of his ideas were crazy like that, he could come up with something reasonable if he wanted. It was just that it was fun to watch their horrified faces when he pitched forward his most wild plans.

“I think it’s snowing,” Ghost announced just then, looking at the quickly darkening strip of sky visible from the broken window in front of them.

Strelok groaned in dismay. He hoped it wouldn’t snow much, marching through the woods in the snow was a nightmare. Last time his feet had become so numb he was sure he’d have to amputate one of the fingers.

“Remember last year, when it snowed for New Year and Doc’s hellish puppy was like a shark under the snow attacking everyone’s ankles?”

Strelok pointed an accusing finger at Fang. “You only remember it fondly because that monster beast didn’t bite  _you_.”

“Perks of wearing an exo-suit.” Like that was an achievement! He just was tall enough to look imposing instead of ridiculous with it.

“Don’t worry Strelok, if Doc’s pseudo-dog bites you this year we’ll test if I can cure you with a hug.” He wasn’t very sure if Ghost was joking or not. It sounded like a joke but that was something he could see Ghost doing with no problem.

The conversation soon shifted towards planning how drunk they would get this New Year and what their resolutions for the upcoming year were, each one more ridiculous than the other. And when the fire eventually died down, they were already asleep, clustered together for warmth as the snow blanketed the whole Zone.


	18. Captured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More about Shovel’s story. Here you can read how much fun she has after the way things ended in the last installment (Chapter 15 - A Stroll in Agroprom)

The world was reduced to an explosion of pain. The side of his head throbbed with a burning sensation and his ear felt like someone dripped molten metal over it. Was he sitting or lying down? He couldn’t remember, although it felt like he was lying on a cold surface. He didn't even know if he had his eyes closed or if he was blinded or just in a dark room. The ringing in his ears was most disorienting too.

There was a certain sense of urgency beneath the pain, like he was forgetting something important. Evgenii tried to remember, but it was hard to focus. He slowly brought his hand to the side of his head and his fingers landed on a wet and sticky patch. Uh?

Someone shook him. Shovel? "Evgenii! Evgenii!"

No, it wasn't Shovel. Shovel had a long blonde braid, not this short and dark mess of hair. Gecko. Yeah, it was Gecko. She helped him sit up.

"Was I attacked by the bloodsuckers?" His own voice sounded strangely slurred to him.

"No," she shook her head with conviction but her eyes were clouded with worry. "I killed the bloodsucker."

"Good, good." Evgenii tried to nod, but that brought a new wave of pain. He noticed the blood on Gecko's hands. "Are you hurt too?"

"I... it's not mine," Gecko confessed while looking over her shoulder.

So if he hadn't been attacked by the mutants, what had exactly happened? He took a quick peek to where she was looking and saw a figure lying on the floor. Unmoving. In just a second Evgenii came to a terrible conclusion.

"Shovel!" He tried to rush upright and would have fallen down if Gecko hadn't steadied him.

"That's the little doc," Gecko informed him, her voice wavering. "Shovel isn't here."

"What do you mean she isn't here?”

"When I came from dealing with the bloodsucker Shovel and the bandits were already gone," Gecko explained slowly. "I feared you were dead too."

Doctor Belyavin deserved better, but part of him was glad it wasn't Shovel lying dead. What a mess. Evgenii sighed and brought his hand to his still throbbing temple.

"No, don't do that," Gecko tried to stop him but she wasn't quick enough.

His hand connected with a sticky patch of hair. Evgenii brought his fingers to inspection and saw they were red. He panicked quietly, in a detached way. He didn’t feel capable of panicking loudly yet.

"Don't worry," Gecko said while opening a medpack and rifling through its contents, "it isn't as bad as it seems. Only a bullet graze. And your ear is almost whole!"

That wasn't as reassuring as Gecko imagined. "What happened with my ear?!"

"A bullet nicked part of the shell. Now stay still."

She poured a disinfectant over his wounds and patched him up. As cousin Pasha liked to say, it stung like a motherfucker. He still couldn't wrap his head around the facts. He'd almost been shot in the head! Evgenii didn't know if he'd been spared by a miracle or the bandits just had shitty aim. Either way he was really grateful to God, the Virgin Mary, his guardian angel or whoever it was that saved him from having his head split open.

"Good as new! Well, mostly," Gecko announced with forced cheerfulness.

He went to touch his maimed ear, to know the extent of the damage, and Gecko stilled him with a glare worthy of his mother’s collection of glares and frowns.

"Sorry." He apologized out of habit.

An uncomfortable silence settled over them, neither wanting to be the first to bring the issue forward. In the end it was Gecko who broke the silence.

"I'm sorry about Shovel. She seemed like the decent sort."

"She isn't dead." Even Evgenii himself was surprised by the vehemence of his words. "If she was dead they'd leave her body here, right?"

"... there's a possibility, yes," Gecko said after thinking about it. "We could track her PDA."

Evgenii was giddy with relief. Having her agree with him reassured him, it felt less like he was deluding himself. "Wait, we?"

"It's not like the little doc needs my help anymore," she said while sparing a fleeting glance at Belyavin's corpse.

It would be nice if, for a change, Evgenii's next expedition didn't end with someone dead. At this rate he'd soon be known as the Gravedigger. Of course he offered to help her take care of Belyavin’s body. It wasn’t something he liked doing, but it was the decent thing to do. They wrapped him in a sleeping bag, like a shroud of sorts, and once Gecko notified the death to the scientists a military team would be sent to retrieve the remains. Much better than trying to carry the corpse up the ladder and drag the bundled body to Yantar.

#

The journey back to consciousness was slow, like waking up from a nasty dream. Although Shovel knew better.

Her head hurt horribly and there was a strange metallic taste in her mouth. The pointy and jagged surface of a pebble dug on her cheek, yet she didn't dare to move. The murmur of two persons talking kept her still. _Ex-bandits my ass_ , she thought utterly furious. Their voices became more defined and less jumbled the longer she was awake.

“... wouldn’t be like this if you didn’t push Leech down the stairs.”

“I saw the bloodsucker and panicked!”

“He was our fucking ticket to become rich! I can’t believe...”

At this point she tuned them out, as the hammering in her head worsened with their prattle. Ugh, she felt even worse than that time she got drunk on Irina’s boyfriend homemade moonshine. 

The crunch of boots over leaves got closer to her and she closed her eyes again.  What did they want of her? Shovel could hazard a guess of what two bandits could want of a girl they abducted, and it wasn’t a pretty picture. The mere thought of it nearly sent her spiralling into an anxiety attack. Perhaps if she fought against it hard enough they'd hit her back to unconsciousness. Shovel entertained no fantasy of being able to overpower both of them unarmed as she was.

A boot prodded her on the ribs. "Wakey wakey."

Terrified out of her wits and with her heart hammering like a war drum, she opened her eyes. The two bandits towered over her like vultures.

"Quick question girl," the one called Noodle said. "Can you hear or not the Monolith?"

Shovel sat up and gaped at him like a fish out of water, unable to formulate an answer. What? That was completely not what she expected.

"Well?" Noodle prodded her while Squint regarded her with barely contained disdain.

"I..." There was no good answer here, was there? Whatever she said would have _Consequences_. "Ye-es. Yes, I do."

Noodle eyed her dubiously. She didn’t blame him much for that, she wouldn’t believe herself either.

"Really? You were telling another tale before." Time to see if she could bullshit her way through this mess.

"I didn't want them to know. My friends." Shovel looked to the ground and played with the hem of her jacket. "At first I thought the whispers were just my imagination, but then it started calling my name and I was scared to tell anyone about it!"

At least she didn't have to fake her fear, she was terrified enough that it bled into her every word.

"Where do we have to go to find the Monolith?" Noodle asked her, still not convinced.

Uh, according to the rumours people went north in search of the Wish Granter. Was that the same as the Monolith? She hoped so. She only had rumours to build this charade on.

"To... the north?" Shovel made a show of tilting her head to the side, as if she was listening to something only she could hear.

Squint's stormy expression transformed into sickening glee, which oddly made him look no less terrifying than before.

"That's what Leech said!" She let out the breath she had been holding.

"Quite right. You'll guide us.” Great, surely this wasn't bound to backfire spectacularly at some point. Noodle extended her hand to Shovel and helped her up with a rough pull. “And if you lie or disappoint me, I’ll let Squint have a field day with you.”

As if she wasn’t sufficiently scared! But threats were to be expected, she supposed. However, first there was something she needed to know above everything else.

"What about my f-friends?"

"They might be dead, or some may have survived," Noodle shrugged, completely unconcerned.

Oh no. No. That answer was unacceptable! She refused to believe Evgenii was dead. He was her best friend in this messed up place, he wasn't allowed to die! Shovel wanted to howl and scratch both their eyes out, but she swallowed her fury and nodded curtly. The threats were fresh in her mind.

"C'mon, you'll walk behind me and tell me if we're on the right path. Squint, you on the rear." Noodle instructed, leaving no doubt of who was the leading voice in this group.

They divided her stuff between their backpacks and left nothing to her. Not even the rations or bandages. And of course she was left unarmed.

"Don't I need to carry part of the stuff?"

They laughed at her, assuring her they would take good care of her. Yeah, amazing. Creepy bastards. So Shovel marched between them, praying a Duty patrol would cross their path and kill them. Heck, she'd even settle for being attacked by mutants, it would create a nice distraction for her to run away.

#

Their stay at the ecologists’ camp had been painfully brief. Which Evgenii supposed was good, they had no time to waste if they wanted to catch up with Shovel's group.

The bunker had looked new and shiny from afar, but as they got close he started to notice the chipped paint and the scratches on the metal walls. However, most noticeable was how empty the place was. No guards, no stalkers around, no scientists in brightly coloured protective suits. Nothing. The enclosure around the bunker dwarfed the ugly prefab, accentuating the crushing feeling of emptiness. He'd been glad to leave, impatient to go on in his search and rescue mission. This place wasn't what he had imagined.

_"I have to tell Sakharov about Belyavin," Gecko said._

_"Are you sure they won't need you around?"_

_"Not much to do here now," she looked to the deserted enclosure, "and they already have Markov doing the odd job."_

_Evgenii felt like he_ _’_ _d been hit with a hammer on the chest. He hadn_ _’_ _t expected to hear that name again._

_"M-Markov?"_

_"Yeah, you know him? Friendly guy on the surface but kind of distant." Sensing his interest, Gecko pointed him to the back of the enclosure. "Usually hangs there when he's around."_

_She left him there while she went to deliver the unpleasant news to Sakharov and Evgenii barely noticed her going, too busy thinking if finding Markov now was some kind of signal._

They travelled in near silence, him following Gecko and she checking on her PDA Shovel's position every now and then. Why were they going north? That part of the Zone was rumoured to be even harsher than the rest. The kind of place veteran stalkers didn’t want to visit again. Getting some extra help could have been, well, helpful.

_“Let me get this straight, you want to follow the girl to wherever it is she’s going. And you want my help for that?” Markov laughed in disbelief. “Are you mental?”_

_Evgenii clenched his fists and took a deep breath, swallowing his anger and frustration. He knew this had been a bad idea, but since Gecko mentioned him, he felt the need to speak with Markov. And now he understood better than ever Shovel’s gleeful talk of smashing a fist into the bastard’s face._

_“You owe us big time,” he reminded to the older stalker, “and I know she hates you for what you did, but I’m gonna need all the help I can get to rescue her. Even yours.”_

_Markov looked coldly at him. “I owe nothing to you rookies.”_

_That was the last straw. Evgenii was tired, and hurting, and worried for his friend. And this-  this asshole, failed him yet again._

_“You abandoned us! Left us to die!” he poked Markov in the chest with an accusing finger. “Don’t you feel even a tiny bit of remorse? Or is it something you do regularly?”_

_“So your girl-friend gets snatched by bandits, Monolithians or whatever it was, and you want to get her back, but you don’t even have a plan? And you want me to come along for the ride?” Right now Markov couldn’t sound any more dismissive even if he tried, with a sneer on his ugly mug. “Forget it kid. She’s already dead or will be soon.”_

_“I’m not leaving my friend for dead because I’m not a coward! Unlike you!”_

_Markov’s face went a really unflattering shade of red. “Get the fuck outta my face. Now!”_

_So that was it. The last remnant of what once had been their friendship was once again snapped and stomped on by Markov. Had they ever been friends in the first place?_

_“I can’t believe I once looked up to you. How stupid I was.”_

_Evgenii stormed off towards the scientist’s bunker and away from him, before he did something he might regret. Like drawing his pistol (or crying)._

_“Kid!” The stalker’s shout infused some hope in him, a brittle feeling that Markov was about to shatter. “My final advice: Don’t do it. That’s, by far, the dumbest thing you can ever do. The last one too, most probably.”_

Evgenii clenched his fists. Markov was an asshole and a coward, he wouldn't take advice from him. He was going after Shovel either way, no doubt about it. And Gecko was. They were going to find Shovel and kick those two weirdo’s asses. And then he would lead Shovel back to the ecologist camp so she could punch Markov in the face like she always said she wanted to do. Yup.

#

Shovel's day went from bad to worse. Under the unrelenting sun her headache had transformed into a spear of pain going through her skull, and her mouth went dry with a lingering metallic taste. All day long she'd been marching up and down, flanked by _dumb and dumber._ At least they seemed content with her vague advice to continue north through the main road. Thank God, because if they asked for details she’d have no answers.

They found no one on their way. No stalkers, or other bandits, or mutants. A shame, Shovel was desperately looking for the right moment to run away unnoticed. But it was difficult to do so when it was only they three on the road. To her infinite irritation, she was constantly flanked and watched. Every damn second. Even taking a bathroom break became an ordeal, since convincing them she needed some privacy and that she wasn't going to escape required a lot of haggling.

As if all that wasn't enough, her scalp itched terrible where she'd been hit. And after carefully scratching her head, Shovel confirmed her suspicions: there was a clump of dried blood sticking to her hair. Small pieces of the scab got stuck under her nails as it crumbled under her touch.

So all in all, Shovel could say this had been the worst day of her life. For now at least, she supposed things could always get worse.

They stopped for the night at a rundown building that once upon a long time she supposed it was a factory. Whatever it had been, it had a certain industrial quality to it, although now everything looked like a prison to her. Shovel set her bedroll as far away from them as she was allowed, nearly plastered to the mossy wall.

The two bandits generally ignored her, besides tossing her a can of food with a jolly cry of _"A meal fit for a princess!"._ Shovel glared at the can until she caved in, hunger triumphing over anger. She fantasized about smothering both of them in their sleep while she ate.

"Squint you get second shift." As usual, Noodle imposed his will.

Squint of course took his word as law, and Shovel didn't have any choice. Once again, she was relieved of any duty. If they didn't trust her with a backpack, of course they didn't trust her to have a shift. Perhaps they weren't as dumb as she thought.

Shovel lay down on her bed roll, yet sleep eluded her. She didn't feel safe enough. And no, it wasn't because of the distant whirring of the anomalies on the next room. She was afraid of the bandits might do while she was sleeping. It was a long list of possibilities, each one worse than the other. Not to mention she still hoped to escape unnoticed during the night. So she lay unmoving with her eyes shut and listening to what they did.

Waiting was so, so, SO boring and nerve wracking, though. The hours trickled by and all she did was get more tense, hoping Squint would fall asleep on his watch -he seemed the type- and then... Then what? Accidentally step into an anomaly in the dark? Find a chimera out there and become its dinner? Argh, these situations were much easier in movies.

Much later, when the sun was starting to timidly rise, Shovel realized she could find what happened with Evgenii. Sort of. The PDA had a tracking function, right? Probably one to send a private message too. She just had to make sure no one noticed what she was doing. Her hand inched closer to her pocket, bit by bit, careful to not alert her captors.

"Up, up!" Squint shook Noodle awake. "It's first light, as you wanted."

God damn it! She’d have to shelve this idea for later. Shovel grunted irritated and pretended to wake up groggy. Everything she did lately was a farce.

#

The truck graveyard was an impressive place, expanding on front of them like a sea of rust, but Evgenii was too frustrated to marvel at the military jeeps or the broken choppers.

"You said we were gonna catch them here!"

Gecko scowled at her PDA like it was the culprit of their constant failure to intercept Shovel. "I don't understand! Their path was clearly coming here, but at the last moment they went to Army Warehouses."

Evgenii threw his arms up on the air with a wordless cry.

"Same as in Rostock," Gecko sighed. "It looked as if they were going to the bar area, but at the last second they changed direction."

Fucking great, their leader was a master of throwing people off of their trail. Almost three days since the bandits kidnapped Shovel, and they were no closer to catching them. He was convinced they shouldn't have stopped in _The 100 Rads,_ but Gecko thought someone might have seen Shovel's group or know something. It was worth a shot, but no such luck. And now they were on the wrong place again.

"C'mon, this way to Army Warehouses."

This string of failures was taking their toll on them. Evgenii was starting to lose hope, and Gecko... Despite taking the role of guide with ease, she looked defeated. If they didn’t catch up with Shovel’s group soon, would Gecko quit? She had no real reason for helping him, just her guilt for doctor  Belyavin’s death. Evgenii hoped he wouldn’t have to find out, he didn’t know how far away he’d get on his own.

#

After days of travelling with them, Shovel could say without a doubt that she wished both of them an extremely painful death. These last three days had been a special kind of hell. They kept an eye on her all the time, like hawks circling above a poor rabbit, keeping her on a short leash and looking at her with hunger and suspicion. And her dreams of escaping while they slept soon crumbled to dust, as one always remained awake while the other slept.

On her part, Shovel barely slept in the last days, too worried about everything to close her eyes for more than a few hours. She grew despondent and easily irritated. At first she'd been careful to not antagonize much the bandits. Now she didn't give a damn about it. They put her in charge of finding the path, right? Well, now they had to deal with it.

"No fucking way! Find another way!" Noodle's aggravation brought her a small bout of satisfaction.

"This is the only one I know."

“ _Cyka blyat!_ ” The bandit swore up a storm as he regarded the proposed path, crossing through heavily patrolled territory. Even Squint, much more gullible than his friend, looked sceptical.

Shovel regarded them stone faced, much calmer than she truly was. "The Monolith demands sacrifice. You didn't think it would be a cake walk, did you?"

Squint nodded at her words. "Leech always said that."

Shovel felt like screaming at his face _"I know! You've been repeating this shit for days!",_ but settled for compressing her lips into a thin line. Truly it was divine providence neither of them had called her out on her constant bluffing.

Noodle pointed at her with his Viper, "If this goes wrong I'll make you wish you'd never set foot in the Zone!"

Yeah, Shovel was already regretting it. Nothing had gone right since she agreed to go on Markov's expedition. Well, she found a good friend in Evgenii but that was it. And she didn't know if he was dead or alive. There had been no opportunity to check her PDA, much less to send any message or track him. In fact, with each day that passed, Shovel grew more certain they were all dead –Evgenii, Gecko and Belyavin– all shot by the bandits or eaten by the bloodsuckers. And if Evgenii was alive, would he be searching for her or would he go back to Cordon and drink one last shot in her memory? After all, that was what most stalkers would do.

These thoughts only worsened her mood, but she had little else to do but think about stuff and try to pick the path that would lead the bandits through the most trouble. Shovel had a rough recollection of the Zone's map thanks to Evgenii's enthusiasm to learn everything possible about the Zone, and so far that knowledge had been very helpful. She tried to always take the path that went closest to any base in the area, or through places she'd heard that were controlled by Duty.

But her hopes remained wishful thinking. Shovel's memories of the map were hazy at best, and it was like walking blindly ahead and hoping she wasn't walking straight to a premature and gruesome death.  Not to mention Noodle’s last minute corrections and arguments about the path she chose.

Now this area, the Army Warehouses was it? This was completely unknown to her. Eyeing the skirmishes between the military and some stalkers far away on the vast fields before her, Shovel decided she didn't like this place much.

"We'll go around the base and then what? Is the Monolith close?" Squint cheerfully asked her.

How could she know? But her survival depended on this cumbersome lie she struggled to maintain. "It's closer."

This seemed to mollify both of them. A bit. However Noodle still looked unhappy.

"I'm not getting any closer to the fucking base," he said. "We go around that abandoned village and be careful those hippies don't spot us."

Who were supposed to be the hippies, Freedom? Shovel didn't care if they all liked to sing _Kumbaya_ around a campfire while smoking blunts, as long as they rid her of her captors they'd be freaking great, in her opinion.

The abandoned village lay far away from where the stlakers and soldiers were fighting, but it  gave off some unexplainable creepy vibes. Incredibly quiet and dead, the houses were sad reminders of life before the Chernobyl incident, abandoned to the elements and slowly crumbling down. There was also something else lurking in the air, something that became clear when they found the shrine. Shovel gasped in shock and then gagged from the stench, it was overpowering even from a distance.

Grotesque as it was, the collection of heads in spikes and the half rotten limbs around the fire was some sort of shrine. A very twisted one, sure. God, what kind of psycho lived here? She had to close her eyes and take a step back, she was _this_ close to emptying her stomach right there. Most worryingly, both Noodle and Squint looked nauseated too. That was a bad sign.

"Who..." Noodle trailed off, too disgusted to speak properly. For once Shovel agreed with him.

"I don't want to stay here," she said from where she was, two steps behind them and looking at the ground.

Shovel didn't care if that sounded too pleading, she wanted to go. Now. And Squint made a strangled noise that could only be interpreted as agreement, or as a warning he was also about to puke. Leaving this travesty of a shrine behind was their priority.

They hadn't taken more than five or six steps when Shovel felt her hair stand on end **.** Someone was watching them. A pair of unnaturally bright and slanted eyes was looking at them from the nearest house doorway. And Shovel might still be a rookie and greener than grass, but she was one hundred percent sure it wasn't human. Squint saw it too, and reacted with a panicked bellow of _"Bloodsucker!_ _”_

The shadowed figure disappeared suddenly, and for a second it was like the air itself was looking at her with evil bright eyes. They all started running madly, Squint shoving Noodle aside in his haste to get away from this cursed village. It could have been Shovel's opportunity to run away from her captors, but in that moment she was only interested in running away from the dangerous mutant. It could be anywhere! Now she was beginning to understand the fear that infused the voice of older stalkers when talking about these monsters.

Their crazed sprint gained momentum when heavy wheezing was heard following them, and on her part Shovel ran like she'd never ran before, with the bandits close behind her. She probably beat some kind of record. Eventually she had to stop, gasping out of breath and feeling a burn in her lungs. The ever loathsome bandits caught up with her, dropping their heavy backpacks in exhaustion and panting like dogs.

"Okay, we got to the fucking forest, now what?" Noodle prodded once more.

A very interesting question, indeed. Now what? Everything around her was pines, sickly looking and looming way above her. It was a small improvement from moments ago, but for a forest it was slightly sinister. She learned a lot about sinister things she arrived to the Zone. The bloodsucker's village was one hill away now, which was undeniable good news. The downside was that Shovel was now even more lost than before. Crap.

Truth be told, she had never planned that far ahead, hoping to get rescued or escape way earlier. If she kept telling them to go north, eventually they'd reach the very radioactive Chernobyl plant, and they'll all miserably die of radiation along the way. Or, avoid it somehow and appear behind Belarus’ border. That would be quite the story.

Unfortunately, Noodle wasn't known for his patience, and Squint was looking at her funny too. "Well?"

"Uh..."

She was saved from answering by a rustling between the trees, right behind them, which soon gave way to a pair of heavily armed guys. Didn't look like military, but their gear seemed top notch. Much better than what stalkers usually had. Shovel was surprised to see they wore urban camouflage, that wasn't much useful here. The newcomers looked at them like one might look at a mildly strange bug, but thankfully they hadn't taken their weapons out yet. Noodle and Squint looked back at the stalkers. It was the world's most quiet and tense stalemate. The more this went on, the more Shovel's anxiety grew. Why weren't these guys reacting at all?

"Who sent you."

If the situation was weird before, this guy's emotionless voice was only making it worse. Noodle looked back at them without blinking, while Squint honoured his name and looked at them with unmasked hostility. The only sound Shovel could hear was he own ragged breathing as she looked at the backpack almost touching her left foot.

"The Monolith sent us," Noodle said loudly, like daring them to react.

It was all lies. Running away from a bloodsucker brought them here. That and her bumbling attempts to lead them straight into a Duty patrol.

The oddly dressed stalkers looked blankly at him. "You... not chosen. Not worthy."

This terrifying reply was followed by all them reaching for their respective weapons. At the same moment, Shovel ducked down and grabbed the nearest bag. She started running as the first shot rang, and continued running blindly ahead as the fight went on.

The lowest branches of the trees sometimes smacked her face as Shovel ran, but it didn't matter. She counted another three shots, then one that went past her and instead chipped the trunk of a nearby tree. She had no idea where she was going, the important thing was to get away or she was toast. Searching the contents of the bag while running was complicated, but her hand brushed something hard that could be a pistol, and while it wasn't her beloved hunting rifle, it was comforting to not be unarmed.

She got her feet caught in a wayward root and fell down, crashing against the forest's ground. Someone was running towards her, closer and closer. Shovel barely had time to get the pistol out of the bag and sit up. One of the creepy monotone guys barrelled down through the trees, towards her. Fear got a hold of her, she didn’t have time to move or check if the gun was loaded.  

Shovel pulled the trigger.

The man stumbled. He swayed in place before falling down, and it would have been comical if it wasn't for the blood flowing down his throat and the odd angle of his jaw.  Shovel stared at him as he went down and never got up, and time seemed to stop.

He was dead.

She had killed him.

He was dead.

Dead.

The world spun around her, dizzying. She was already sitting but Shovel felt like she was going to collapse. Her vision went dark around the edges, a sign she was hyperventilating, so she put her head between her knees and focused on breathing normally.

Breathe in, breathe out.

_(She was a murderer)_

Breathe in, breathe out.

That man had a life, a family and friends that would never see him again or know what happened. Because of her. It had been so easy, so quick. Hunting usually took her more effort than this! She gurgled a hysterical giggle; she hadn't even aimed the gun!

What would her family do if they could see her now? Would her mother and sister think her a monster? Irina didn't even like her hunting poor little animals, as she said. Would his dad be ashamed of being the one who taught her to hold a weapon? Her broken giggles soon turned into shuddering sobs.

Breathe in, breathe out.

When she calmed enough to think clearly, she realized she was sitting oblivious to her surroundings in an unknown and possibly dangerous forest. Okay, deep breathe and get priorities straight:  check where she was, find out what happened to Evgenii and the others, and get out of here post haste. She could do it.

Shovel got up, slightly shaky on her feet. The forest around her was hauntingly quiet, like it was accusing her from disrupting its normal state. Avoiding looking at the body in front of her, she took out her PDA. The GPS indicated she was between Red Forest and Army Warehouses. Alright. She couldn't wait to never see these places again.

Finding how the tracking system worked took her a while, since she kept spacing out and staring at the screen without actually doing anything. And when she finally did it, she was nearly crying again. Both Evgenii and Gecko were on the move, not that far away from here. Were they looking for her? It was an unreal feeling, perhaps she was only imagining things.

Out of morbid curiosity, she looked who were her closest contacts: Noodle, Squint, and two names she didn't recognize, these last two marked as _faction: Monolith._ All dead presumably. However, that meant the Monolith really existed. Or at least some creepy guys believe enough in it to name themselves like that.

Shovel snapped out of her thoughts after an unknown screech rang through the forest. Whatever that had been, it was her wake up call to get moving before anything caught up with her. She picked up the backpack and started walking, and every step brought her an extra bit of confidence. It didn't take long before she reached the position where her PDA marked the other bodies, clustered together. Reality was worse than seeing three dots in a screen. Noodle had a gaping hole in his chest, and the other Monolith guy looked like a _Gruyere_ cheese. Squint lay face down, a halo of congealed blood surrounding him and darkening the soil. She had wished for this, hadn't she? For someone to come and kill the bandits who abducted her. Horror threaded with relief coursed through her like an out of control car. She was (a murderer) a rookie, the stupid girl who didn't know up from down in this place, but she survived while everyone else was dead.

Her hunting rifle poked out of the bag on Squint's back, calling her like a beacon. Although Shovel felt guilty for wanting it back. She'd done enough damage with a simple Makarov, she didn't think she needed yet more weapons. But that rifle was part of her, part of what made her Yulia, not Shovel. It tethered her to her life before it all went wrong. Could she ever go back and bask in the glow of those carefree days? Or would the knowledge of what she'd done also torment her there, lurking in the back like a disease no one wanted to admit having?

In the end she threw out the accursed pistol and picked up the hunting rifle, noticing for the first time how heavy it was in her hands.

#

"And then old Sakharov finally realized it was better to have me guiding his guys in their crazy expeditions," Gecko finished her story with a touch of pride.

However, Evgenii had stopped in his tracks, not registering Gecko's words. The dots he monitored almost constantly from his PDA were doing something weird. Namely, two dots labelled as _Monolith_ had appeared next to the other three.

"Evgenii?" Gecko got closer and put a hand on his shoulder.

He just shoved the PDA in her hands, confused and worried because one of them was chasing Shovel ‘s dot. Gecko scanned the screen for what felt like an eternity and started swearing like a drunk soldier.

"This is all so _pizdets_!"She looked at him grimly. "You must know there's a possibility we'll be late."

After that warning she started running through the vast fields of Army Warehouses, evading anomalies Evgenii did not see until he passed right next to them. He followed her, pocketing the PDA as he ran faster than ever in his life. Gecko's warning from before circled endlessly on his mind. There were many things he wanted to ask, but now wasn't the moment. Yet the only thing he had clear from Gecko's reaction was that those Monolith dots on the PDA were bad news.

The field became peppered with trees and brusquely turned into a fairly closed forest. Gecko slowed down, much to Evgenii's relief. He was all out of breath and felt some insistent pangs on his sides.

"Be ready," Gecko said in a whisper. Although she didn't mention what he should ready himself for.

A single shot rang close by, like a deathly omen hiding between the leaves. Then a branch snapped, closer this time. Following Gecko's example, Evgenii quickly took his pistol out, looking around to find out who or what was making the noise. A rustle of leaves, very close now, and he still couldn't see what was coming.

A figure emerged seemingly out of nowhere from between the trees, walking slowly and looking down at a PDA screen. The person looked up and Evgenii nearly dropped his pistol in surprise.

"SHOVEL!"

She looked at him, rooted on the spot. "This is all real, right? Not - not my imagination."

She looked like she was about to cry, and Evgenii ran to catch her in a bear hug. She half heartedly hugged back and Evgenii quickly let her go, afraid he'd crossed a line. Shovel looked dazedly at him and then at Gecko, still without uttering a word.

"You're a quite resilient rookie," Gecko told her with a smile. "Damn impressive!"

That was absolutely true, although Shovel flinched minutely at her words. “Can we leave this place? Please?”

“We can go anywhere you want,” Gecko said, and Evgenii agreed with her.

He expected Shovel to ask for a place to rest, or to go back to the rookie village. But in reality she asked for something different.

“I want to go home.”


	19. All the Zone's a stage (Lukash x Voronin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, long time no see! I noticed I failed to upload here the last thing I wrote, so you're getting a double deal today! Get ready for crack in this one. So much crack! XD

" _Two factions, both alike in dignity,_

_In the dangerous Zone, where we lay our scene,_

_From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,_

_Where stalker blood makes stalker hands unclean._

_From forth the fatal loins of these two foes –"_

"Wait, wait! I have a question."

An exasperated sigh, then "Yes, Arkady?"

"What did you say we were supposed to do?"

"Fuck's sake, you only have to pretend to kiss Vasily!" Arkady looked still unconvinced.

"But Poet, how will that work with the gasmask and helmet?" Arkady asked earnest in his worry. "We'll just knock each other."

Vasily took off a heavy, Duty-coloured helmet and held it like one would a melon. The sight of it against his Wind of Freedom suit was ridiculous. "That's a good point. Do we have to wear the helmet and gasmask? This shit's cumbersome, dude."

Poet took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. How to explain them that art required dedication, effort? The improvised rehearsal went off without a hitch, but by the time they acquired the equipment, and gotten some weird glances from Skinflint in the process, the effects of their artistic high were starting to wear off.

"Look, you're interpreting Voronin and Lukash. Their faces are well known, so you have to use the headgear to interpret them." Not to mention avoiding being recognized later on. "Just say the lines as rehearsed while touching hands, and then lean in close as if going for a kiss."

"Can we switch roles?" Vasily asked pleadingly. "This helmet's crushing me."

With a wave of his hand, Poet acquiesced to his request, since he was feeling benevolent and it didn't matter much to him either way. Besides, time was of the essence. The light was perfect now, and his crappy PDA camera wouldn't work well if it got darker.

"What's going on here?"

They all three froze in terror, looking at their unexpected visitor with the apprehension of a kid caught painting the walls with markers. On the other hand, Lukash was smirking openly.

"Well?"

Deciding to take ownership of his little project, Poet took half a step forward. "Just a little artistic, erm, expression."

"Ah, I see." Lukash kept looking at them amused, enjoying their terrified expressions. "Carry on then. And make sure your artistic project is well distributed. Specially around  _The 100 Rads_."

With this surprising lack of repercussions, he turned to leave, not before casually adding one last comment. "Oh, and cast " _Voronin"_  in the role of Juliet."

#

In a mix of staying true to his artistic vision, and not wanting to anger Lukash after getting off the hook so easily, Poet certainly carried on with the project. And perhaps then he sent the video to a friend that in turn was friends with some Dutiers, and bribed said friend into sharing the video with the Dutiers. And perhaps Vasily and Arkady had gotten a bit carried away and ended up lifting their headgear halfway and kissing for real. But the final result was certainly a smashing success.

And perhaps when the real Lukash got an angry message from the real Voronin, he smiled in triumph at finally catching his attention and getting the uptight Duty General to send him messages again. He hated being ignored.


	20. Life in the Zone - OC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a vicious encounter with Writer's Block, I think I'm finally back into the game! Let's have a small insight into my new OC, The Piper, shall we? Might not be my proudest work, but it got me writing again ;-;
> 
> Warning for cannibalism mention (and the usual Zone related fuckery and violence)

The first bite into a downed prey used to be the worst, when the still warm blood would gush out and fill everything with its metallic taste. But now he barely noticed it anymore, too hungry after days without eating. As leader of the pack he got the first bite, but soon the dogs would get rowdy, eager to tear a chunk out of the boar too. Squatting and eating raw flesh like that, face covered in blood, it was difficult to tell if he was still human or just another abomination of the Zone.

#

Dimitry had lost his stalker guide and his team, but he still had hopes to get out of the Zone alive if he turned tail now. However, the whispers didn't agree with that. And his pride didn't either, truth be told. In his job reputation was everything, he couldn't go back empty handed! The background noise in his brain seemed to hum in agreement. Funny how he'd gotten used to that. Perhaps today he'd be able to sleep at last.

It began two days ago, when Dimitry heard the warning for an impending blowout while crossing the vehicle graveyard. He hid in one of the abandoned jeeps and waited, trusting the thin metal carcass to shield him from the radiation storm. However, when the earth shook and the blood red sky looked like it was going to burn down, Dimitry's mind burned too.

Didn't matter how many anti-radiation pills he took, or that he'd closed his eyes and tried to ignore the ghostly mutants he'd seen crawling around during the emission. In the end, when everything seemed to go back to normal, the whispers stayed. Always in the back of his mind, too quiet to properly understand what they said, but always there.

#

Ironically, their guide, a stalker named Vasya, had been the first to die. The bandits ambushed them, and once they saw Vasya hit the gorund the rest all scattered in diferent directions. Dimitry saw one of his guys get suddenly snatched up in the air and then, boom, gone.

Vasya's demonstration with bolts hadn't prepared him for the reality of seeing someone die in an anomaly.

The other man simply vanished out of Dimitry's sight. He never found out what happened to him.

#

Dimitry avoided the more populated areas. Other stalkers tended to get nervous when they saw him and his dogs. And when stalkers got nervous, their fingers were always on the trigger.

That was fine. He preferred his dogs to other stalkers anyways. He couldn't remember how it started, but after having the first few blind dogs following him, more started to join. He now had some pseudo-dogs too. Old and gnarled, but still fierce. And they were all following him. This pleased Dimitry, since he vaguely remembered wanting a dog, yes? Or was it that he had a dog before? No, that couldn't be right. He had wanted a dog. Now he had many. Dimitry was finally happy.

#

The rookie smelled like fear. He knew it because his dogs knew it. The stalker said something, but he had difficulty understanding him. It had been a long time since he talked to someone. Last time he found stalkers wandering around his forest they tried to shoot him and his pack, calling him  _monster_. He felt his mouther water remembering the taste of their bone marrow and one of the dogs whined. They were all hungry.

"... I need to go back to the Bar. Can you help?" the rookie repeated slowly. "I'll pay you for it, I swear."

He bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. "Yes, help."

#

Sitting on his antique desk, Dimitry laughed. This idiot had just agreed to pay him a goddamn fortune. And all for what, a special kind of albino dog? He'd have to find a way into the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, but he had contacts in Ukraine who would take care of that part. How hard could it be to smuggle a pseudo-dog into Moscow? Not much, if you knew which palms to grease and who to threaten. This job was gonna be easy as pie, ha!


End file.
